only made matters worse. She possessed a brilliant wit and happy turn for repartee, by which she often unintentionally wounded the vanity of those who found themselves unable to compete with her in the light-wordy skirmishes which so frequently arise between beaux and belles; and, therefore, she was decided to be "sarcastic." And what more formidable character could a young lady possess? Many a gentleman sat a whole evening longing to approach her, but deterred by the fear of her terrrible propensity, while Alice sat apart, the perfect picture of innocent unconsciousness. GENTLEMEN-Having nothing better to do this afternoon, Ivited. But, alas for poor Alice! her conciliatory efforts opened aunt Mary's desk, (she has gone to Boston,) and rummaged in a most impertinently thorough manner among her private papers. I send you one from among many evidently designed for publication, of which you may make what use you deem proper. If you choose to publish it,|| you need feel no "honourable scruples" about doing so, as I will "take the responsibility" with aunt Mary. I do want to astonish her by the sight of one of her unpublished sketches, (withheld by the fear of an editorial rejection, I know,) duly set forth and displayed in the recherche columns of the New Mirror. I see her even now in my mental vision, (that's "refined" for "mind's eye,) staring, rubbing her spectacles to take another look, and then calling that "saucy, spoiled boy" to account for his "assurance" in "taking such liberties"-but she wont be as angry as she will pretend to be," not by no manner of means whatsoever, sir," as our little black Pete would say. Yours respectfully. ALICE GRAHAM. EUGENE. "What a strange girl Alice Graham is; I really believe she thinks more of one of those dull books over which she is forever pouring, than of all the beaux in the country round. She'll never get married if she goes on in this way -she's past nineteen now." "The better for us, my dear. If she was as affable as she is beautiful, we should have no chance." "I don't know that she would be a dangerous rival certainly; but, luckily, there is no likelihood of her powers being put to the test. Do you know that I suspect her insensibility to be sheer pride. She scorns the admiration of which it is impossible she is as unconscious as she appears to be." "Oh, now you are growing malicious-so, to save your conscience and poor Alice's good name, I propose that we set off instanter on our delectable mission, in search of a match for this blue silk." "I'd rather undertake to find a match for half a dozen "blue" damsels, the formidable Alice included-but I suppose we must make the attempt. You are forgetting your parasoi." || Alice certainly was an oddity, as her friends said-she would say she was nineteen, when asked her age, to the great annoyance of some of her friends who, though undeniably her seniors, had not passed eighteen. She never would play save for dancing, or sing except in a duet when no one else could be found able or willing to undertake her part, although one of the best performers in the village. She never evinced the slightest interest in the latest fashion, and was provokingly unobservant of the new dresses and bonnets which appeared in church; and then, whenever any of the more daring of the village beaux mustered courage to make an evening call at Dr. Graham's, she would, after exchanging the customary salutations with them, go up to her own room to pursue her reading undisturbed; leaving to her mother the task of entertaining the visiters. Who ever saw such strange behaviour? As if she was stupid enough to think they came to see her mother. No wonder that the gentlemen discontinued their visits, and the young ladies really believed she was in earnest when she said she never intended to marry. Poor Alice! how utterly uncon scious she was of the many offences of which she was guilty! She never deemed herself or her movements of suf ficient consequence to attract anybody's attention; and actions which were the result of her deep humility were gencrally called “ stiff airs,” and attributed to coldness and pride; and yet, everyone allowed that Alice was perfectly polite and well-bred. Had those who censured her looked within their own hearts, they might have discovered that it was their innate consciousness of her superiority, rather than any assumption on her part, which rendered them so exceedingly And the ladies departed, leaving all thought of Alice and sensitive to any fancied want of condescension in her deher oddities behind them. meanour. When Alice was about twenty years of age, a gentleman by the name of Maitland came to M-, intending to of his health, which was enfeebled by a long and severe illness. Although convalescent, he was unwilling to dispense entirely with the care of a physician, and frequently called upon Dr. Graham to obtain his advice in regard to the various little matters so important to a recovering invalid. Dr. G. who was greatly pleased with Mr. Maitland's manner, introduced his patient to Mrs. Graham and Alice—and he soon became a frequent and welcome visiter at their Louse. As his stay in the village was to be short, he made no attempt to form any other acquaintance there, and for the same reason, probably, the usually friendly and inquisitive people of M, made no social advances to the pale guest at the " American Eagle," and no remarkable surmises in regard to his visits at Dr. G.'s, which they supposed to be exclusively of a professional nature. I was an intimate friend and almost daily visiter of Mr. Graham's, and in Alice Graham, the fair subject of the foregoing and many similar conversations, was the only daughter of the oldest and principal physician of our village. She was beautiful-remain a few months, with a view to the perfect restoration with that purely Grecian outline of feature and classic form so rarely met with, save in antique statues; her dark, soullit eye, and the expression of almost angelic sweetness which ever rested on her features, betokened truly that the mind and heart within were worthy of so fair a casket. To be sure, a very close observer might have detected a slight expression of pride on that exquisite lip, but I thought it enhanced rather than diminished its beauty. And Alice was proud; but hers was true pride, not that petty vanity so often dignified by the name. Her life had been spent in the almost exclusive companionship of books and her own thoughts; she never evinced any inclination for society beyond the limits of her own family circle; and could it be wondered at, that with her superiour mind and refined feelings, she derived little satisfaction from the idle chit-chat, and unmeaning gallantries which often compose the chief conversation of young persons of her age. Hearing, how-consequence frequently met Mr. Maitland. His appearance ever, that several young ladies, whose invitations she had was gentlemanly, though not striking, but his voice was politely declined, were greatly displeased at her "airs," music itself, and the charm of his manner and conversation she determined to avoid giving such offence in future, by perfectly irresistible. I think he was the most fascinating joining in the village parties to which she was always in-person I have ever seen. His influence, though felt by all, was most strikingly displaced on the usually indifferent a discussion which had arisen in regard to a paragraph her Alice. Her book was readily abandoned at his approach, father had read aloud. I was gazing with admiration upon and he soon entered the "charmed circle," who were her exquisite features, which looked pale and placid as if allowed to hear her choice songs, and after he read "Paradise || chiselled from marble, when suddenly the paper fell at her Lost" for us, while we plied the "threaded steel." Alice acknowledged that it was pleasanter to listen to a good reader than to read to one's self, which she never before would admit. But these little concessions came in quite naturally-there was nothing in her manner which Mr. Maitland, had he been a vain man, instead of the very reverse, could construe into evidence of a warmer feeling than friendsnip. And he appeared to value that friendship highly, though he supposed that the privileges he enjoyed were extended to many others. I was "spending the afternoon" at Mr. Graham's, about three months after Mr. Maitland's arrival at M-, and we were all seated in the parlour, when he passed the house in a" sulky." "I wonder what takes Mr. Maitland to S- so often," said Mrs. Graham! "I don't think he can have business there. He must be well acquainted with every tree on the road by this time." "He has very interesting business there, I can assure you," her husband replied; "he goes to visit a lady who is to become Mrs. Maitland as soon as his health is fully restored, which will be soon, I think. I thought I had mentioned that to you before." When Alice was leaving the room a few moments after, as she turned to pass through the door, I saw that her face was pale as the lily on her bosom. That glance revealed to me the nature of her new friendship. Poor Alice! when, with a smile, she placed that flower on its pure resting-place, the hopes within were bright and fair as its yet unfaded beauties-now, alas! those hopes were withered and dead, and the frail flower bloomed above their sepulchre, as if mocking the vanity of human anticipations. feet, and after burying her face in her hands for a moment, she rose and left the apartment. Her parents being still occupied with their newspaper argument, did not observe her departure; and without making any comment, I picked up the paper she had been reading, and on looking at it, almost the first line which met my eye was the announcement of Mr. Maitland's marriage. I read it aloud, and after waiting nearly an hour for Alice's return, Mrs. Graham went in search of her, to communicate to her the news. She soon returned, saying that Alice was in her room very sick, having severe headache accompanied by violent fever -and bitterly reproached herself for having, while her better judgment told her that her daughter had long needed attention, "neglected her," until, as she feared, dangerously ill. How little do we know of the secret springs of human suffering, and how often is medical skill unwittingly and unavailingly employed to " minister unto minds diseased." Alice was long and dangerously ill, and, ere she recovered, Mr. Maitland and his bride had gone to Europe, with the intention of permanently residing there, Mr. M.'s letters, announcing his marriage and departure from America, remaining unanswered in consequence of the coufusion and distress of mind, caused by Alice's alarming situation. They never heard from him after. betrayed. Messrs. Warlike Knights of the Quill and Orderly Sergeants of THE Mirror. PERMIT a poor private to offer your highnesses a few thoughts, which, being drowned in ink, are here spread out to dry in order to whet the appetite of languishing literati. Alice gradually recovered her former health, but that deadly paleness remained. I never after saw the slightest tinge of colour on her beautiful cheek: She seems likely to accomplish the destiny prophesied for her by her youthful friends. But a gentler, more cheerful and more universally beloved old maid, (and there are many agreeable ones,) does not exist. She is often quoted in triumphant refutation of the assertion, that none attain maturity without having Alice did not return to the parlour that afternoon, and loved. The "cold" Alice guarded her secret well-yet when summoned to tea, sent word that she had a slight head-though no mortal ear heard it, to one eye it was unconsciously ache and thought she would be better for sleep; and, in consequence, her mother did not disturb her further. I returned home with a heavy heart, though as comment or warning were now alike needless, I did not pain Mrs. Graham by disclosing my melancholy conviction. Alice rose next morning "perfectly well," as she said with a smile, though she looked very pale, and her mother at first supposed it to be a slight temporary indisposition; as, however, she continued to look pale several days after, and was much stiller than usual even with Mr. Maitland, her mother became uncasy and talked of medical treatment-but Alice laughed at the idea with so much apparent merriment that, for the time, Mrs. Graham was silenced. And now Mr. Maitland, who resided about twenty miles beyond S-, and whose health was fully restored, bade farewell to his friends at M—————, and returned to his home-exchanging with them sincere expressions of regret at parting, and promises of punctual correspondence. Mrs. Graham afterwards told Alice that she seemed rather indifferent at parting with so valued a friend as Mr. Maitland. Poor girl! she controlled her feelings so far as to reply calmly to a charge, which she felt to be so unjust-but as she spoke I caught a brief glance at her quickly averted face, and was startled at its ghastly and agonized expression. About a fortnight after Mr. M.'s departure, we were lingering over the tea-table at Dr. Graham's, when the papers were brought in-they were quickly distributed, and soon after Alice retreated with hers to a corner where a light burned on a small table, to avoid being interrupted by AN IMAGINARY CONVERSATION. BY SAVAGE WALTER, ESQ. A. OK. H. TIME-"Fifty years hence."-SCENE-Room of a public MR. WAKEFUL in a chair yawningly. The earth yet moves upon its usual axis, Come in.-(Looking abstractly at the door knobs.)-Those Figure." Homo sum!" Wakeful." Nihil puto alienum." - Figure.-I'm more the ghost of the forgotten past, To see the shadows which the future cast. Wake.-A la Macready.)—" Alas poor ghost" and first- Behold in me your former classmate, Tom. Wake.-(Rising.)-His memory, though, is warm. Wake. A novel sleep, in truth. I dreamed these fifty years upon a dike. Wake.-And piqued, no doubt, Tom.-My author died, and I awoke to see I've wandered from the country to the town, No one I knew; the faces all were strange, Wake.-I'm glad you asked But while we're talking prithee take a chair- Wake. And first of all, the streets are swept Tom.-Ah me! Why have I slept; Such luxury to enjoy were worth the being! Wake-To speak but nothing of the worth of seeing. When first this Herculanean task began, Some scavengers, (sweeping in the street called Ann(Tom rises in amazement.) Don't start! Ann-street was swept. Tom.-Oh wondrous plan!) Wake. Found there the skeleton of a full-grown man. Tom-Who was he? Wake. No one can truly answer. It might be John Smith, Jr., of Arkansas, Or he who, stuffed with cutlets, chops and steaks, Wake.-Nay! rest assured that all your fears are vain ; America has wiped away that stain. The stars and stripes undimmed wave o'er our head, Tom.-Now how is England's queen? Wake-Her queen's a king! Victoria dead-God save her son," they sing. She died of grief. Tom-With grief-I'm almost dumb! Wake.-Falling in love with General Thomas Thumb! And finger-ing Thumb too freely, Albert shot The little hero in his garden plot. She ne'er survived the issue of THAT plot. [fame Tom-Poor Thumb! may you be hand-ed down by Till future dwarfs in triumph lisp thy name. Thou and the fat girl were in-fat uated, And all fat-uitys to death are fat-ed. The Museums now were non-plussed, I suppose. Tom-(Nor let their mother know that they were out.) Tom.-More's the pity. A chicken-hearted set, to place the city Wake.-Don't be witty! Music at length became the staff of life, With scores of operas the town was rife. Then, as was natural, the flats grew sharp, And those odd fish, who used before to carp, But, getting rather styl-ish, soon was tired, Then Russell, who en-chanted Shakspeare's ghosts With divers anthems, glees, duets and toasts, Like, as great Sampson, with one jaw-bone slew His tens of thousands, so did Russell too. Tom-How with the "well-dressed James of Carolina," Whose praise was sung by every penny-liner, With Daniel Tucker, and with Lucy Long? Wake-Each long-er grew, and from a shortest song Became an opera, whose fame shall last Until the present and the future both be past. But was the town with fiddling now as full? [Bull Wake-Oh yes! Ole Bull became a Herr as Herr Ole He cow-ed Miss Thespia and her last pas seul. Tom.-Then how with dancing? What was its success? Wake. As people's brains grew strangely less and less, More thriving was the dancer's business; And light of head and light of heels you'd hear, As terms synonymous both far and near, Who wrote an L. E. G. (elegy) to deck her grave. France sent the doctor and we paid the fee. And cleanse the blood, by driving humours in! Tom.-What of the medical school of our Alma Mater? Wake.-Made many a martyr-see the college data. Tom-Although at first they had a Mott-ley set, Without a Pain-we should revere them yet. Wake-Sherman, the lozenge man, once in a fit Of absent-mindedness ('twas thought) saw fit [often. Tom-Misguided man! his own which he had made so Wake. The very same! Died, and within a coffin Of lozenge shape was buried. Tom-He little thought His life's avails in death availed him naught! Wake. Some thought he did not die, but on his own Was sent a delegate to the "Diet of Worms!" [terms, Or yet with Trollope and that tribe the scoff? Tom-I always thought, when we were settled well, He associates with all the shining wits, [that tree." Tom-Lives the NEW MIRROR and its LIBRARY yet? Their light reflections I can ne'er forget. Wake-To well sustain them all the beaur were bent, No thefts of copyright their labours mar. Wake.-Pooh! Scandal hasn't climbed to such a pitch! It makes a rich man poor-not poor men rich- Tom--How graphic like you tell its wondrous course! Did its inventor never feel remorse? Wake.-No, not a morsel, Tom.-O thou mighty Morse, Who more than Franklin kept a lightning horse! Wake. The Croton's bed is dry; no more 'twill whet Tom.-I'm really shocked, The Croton bursted and its water docked! A better drink no better e'er could get Wake.-Now with a rap I'll stop your rhap-sody. The aldermen, with eyes that only bats use, In conclave sat upon the fountain's weal, And spoke so earnest on the weal, and sent Drowned Mackintosh, and turned the bathing fountain And drops from rocks Niag'ra's waters dash Tom.-One heavy question yet weighs on my mind, Wake.-Broadway should now be nicknamed Ichabod, It called a meeting, voted him a knave; Wake.-Yes! "to the jealous trifles light as hair Tom.-Those who can't vote! YET taxes have to pay, And in their children's education have no say! Wake. We've none such now, our country free indeed, Has none within her bounds, save those who read; And all who do but this she thinks are fit Either to vote or in her councils sit. Tom-Texas? say what of her? When last I read "Twas thought her lady-ship would soon be dead. A force was fitting out by Santa Anna, To vex her in a most un-fitting manner. Wake. With England for awhile Miss Texas flirted, John Bull loved gores of land it was asserted, But while he toyed, and peers peered in her face, Quaint brother Jonathan, with native grace, Acquainted her "at length as how he guessed Tom-And perhaps 'twas best. Upon this issue had Bull used his horns, And did he bellow when we bruised his corns ?- Tom.-When? Wake.-By noon, For appetites the ride is quite specific, You'll dine on fish brought fresh from the Pacific. Tom. Is there no fear of falling as I go ? To ground and lofty tumbling I'm unused you know To this balloon I'm bound, Wake.-At the depot ; Nine, A. M. Enter the Brigadier. Com-Good morning, General officer! What happy circumstance procures me an invasion of my privileged and pen-procreative hour? On your head be the ink, now drying! Brig.-Well, how are you, mi-boy? Brig. I want to talk to you a little about our parish. Com. The anointed vicar of Mirrordom discourseth with his curate! Light the incense, (there's a cigar in the carved drawer of the Cabinet,) and now -e pluribus unum? Com. I think those who read us, love us, Brigadier! and this love is a thread which binds them into a stable and reliable community. Where there are eleven thousand who buy, there are fifty thousand who read, and we may safely calculate upon a Mirrordom of fifty thousand-thus many of our country's fair and brave, that is to say, having grown to like us, believing in our taste and capability, and heartily wishing us to thrive, as their personal and literary favourites. Brig. You believe that every one of them would like our "company to tea," and under the influence of the "second cup of green," that they would unanimously agree to let us change the Mirror into anything we pleased, so as it was "us" and their money's-worth. Com. I do-particularly the "so's-twas-us." me. (Here the Brigadier and Committee are supposed to turn and smile to the reader-gratefully, courteously and sigh-multaneously.) Brig.-Well, that being the case, a thought has struck Com.-It has struck fire! Brig.(Pleased)-My tender Willis! Com-Tinder, General, at your service! Now for the spark! Brig. The temperament of the age is accelerated. Brig.-Time was, when a Quarterly Review gave literature to the public as fast as it could well be digested. Monthlies superseded Quarterlies, and Weeklies are now, beyond a doubt, more popular than Monthlies. With the acceleration of the public pulse, as shown in railroads and expresses, in abridgments of labour by machinery, in magnetic telegraphs, and regular ocean-mails, the demand for lighter matters is proportionally quickened. Com. We should have fallen behind the age, therefore, by backing into a Monthly-as proposed. Brig.-Doubtless, mi-boy, doubtless! But see our object in change, either way! It was to get literature to our literary parish at reasonable postage. The Monthly costs but seven cents regularly, while the Weekly is changed, according to the caprices of the postmasters, from five cents to fifteen! We thought, therefore, that a monthly issue would evade the Wickliffe persecution-forgetting that the only change tolerable to the spirit of the age is to quicken. Com. So much for preliminary. Now for the project. Brig. Ha ha! (a slap on the knee from the Brigadier) -what should you think of a communication with the parish of Mirrordom without postage? Com.-Magnetic? Brig.-Listen!-(The Brigadier's brows pucker into a complex dough-nut.)-Every man, woman or family, that is above want, in this country, takes a daily paper. Com. Or ought to! Brig. Or wants to! Poker and tongs are not more needed in "furnishing." The daily paper, then, is put down among the utensils. But the youths and damsels, aunts and matrons in the family, soon begin to sigh for something spicier than the daily-something that has wit and sentiment, song and story in it-food, in short, for that part of their nature that is not "in business" or not in the dairy. sixpence. We have tried the experiment fairly, and hav given more good engravings than any other periodical for the money, but bad plates, which must be the greater proportion, are an injury to the public taste, and still so expensive as to be no profit to the perpetrating publisher. Our subscribers have constantly written to us to leave them out, as not worth the postage, and you, (impolitic villain !) have very honestly ridiculed them in your descriptions on the first page. They are well done with. Com-Amen!-(Exit the Brigadier.) One word while we are by ourself, dear reader! We do not believe that we are to be so unfortunate as to lose a sin. gle patron by our change of shape. We shall give much more reading than before, and we shall do another thing which we could not do in the tardy system just abandoned -keep a complete and entertaining chronicle of literary matters. Read the Evening Mirror, and nothing will escape you in the current of literature and the arts, while the other portions of the paper will, we confidently believe, be as ably made-up as any other paper in the Union. Our own time and the Brigadier's will be exclusively devoted to the Evening and Weekly Mirrors, and we have the means and the associates to make them eminently worth a trial. May we ask of you, dear reader of this paragraph, that you will Com. They want the Mirror besides the daily, you continue with us, subscribing at once to our Daily-direc mean to say? tions for which you will find in the following more businesslike Brig. They do-and my project is to combine both! Ha! ha! my boy! (A vigorous emphasis on the Committee's knee!) Com.-But-but Brig-You know, mi-boy, that there is a first page to a newspaper, which is frequently filled with a shovel by the subsub-editor. The second, third and fourth pages are devoted to news, statistics, politics, current events, amusements and advertisements, but the first page is oftenest devoted to an un-readable political speech, or an ill-selected extract, or ANNOUNCEMENT. The undersigned, having for some time published a popu lar periodical, the postage on which varied, at the caprice of the postmasters, from two cents to fifteen, and having struggled in vain to procure from the Department either certainty or moderation, as to its cost by postage, have determined to struggle no longer against such oppressive dis. couragement, but to CHANGE THE FORM of the WEEKLY MIRROR, and issue IN ADDITION a DAILY PAPER, to be called something that, at any rate, is not "spice and variety." THE EVENING MIRROR, Now I propose to issue a Daily in which this neglected first page shall sparkle with wit and literature. Com. Not a literary Daily? Brig.-No-not a literary Daily-but a complete and ably edited newspaper; in which shall be given all that newspapers commonly give, and the spices of light literature besides! In short, it is to be an evening paper, in || which the attraction that has drawn together the Mirror "parish," shall take the place of the ordinary fillings-upthus giving to our friends a daily newspaper and the Mirror literature, at a great economy of price and postage. Com. And will you stop the weekly? Brig. By no means, mi-boy. We shall still publish The Weekly Mirror, which will sum up the spices of the daily, and those who prefer us "in a lump" will still have the Mirror as usual for three dollars a-year, with three times as much reading, while those who wish for both Mirror and newspaper daily, can have them in our evening sheet. Com.-The Weekly Mirror hereafter, then, will go for one cent postage. Brig.-Yes, and our subscribers will get much more to read, of a greater variety, and (a very important part of it) newer by nearly a fortnight. The drying and pressing of the sheets, to protect the engraving, has compelled us to print the Mirror ten or twelve days before its issue, so that nothing recent could be noticed, and our criticisms of the arts and amusements were invariably tardy. A JOURNAL OF LIFE AND TIMES. It will be neutral in politics, and aim to embrace everything that can interest the business-man and the members of a family-combining, it is intended, all the qualities of the BEST NEWSPAPER THAT INDUSTRY AND EXPERIENCE CAN PUT TOGETHER. The type will be new and beautiful. The literary character of the editors will perhaps prepare the public for some favouring of their particular pursuits, and the usually neglected outside page will present a DAILY LITERARY GAZETTE, edited with their best care and spirit. The first number will be issued on the seventh day of October, and every succeeding evening, Sundays excepted. TERMS: For the daily paper, six dollars per annum, payable half-yearly in advance. For THE WEEKLY MIRROR, containing the condensed spice and variety of the six daily papers, without advertisements, THREE DOLLARS PER ANNUM, invariably in advance. Advertisements at the usual prices. Office, for the present, No. 4 Ann-street, where adver tisements and subscriptions are now received. Postmasters will make all remittances free of postage. Editors with whom we exchange will confer a favour by copying this announcement, and giving us their friendly aid at starting. G. P. MORRIS. N. P. WILLIS. Those who have dues from a late subscription will reCom-And this same engraving rarely worth the trouble.ceive the Weekly Mirror. Adieu, dear reader, till we meet Brig.-Mi-boy, there is nothing more impossible than to again, Cabinet and all, in the first number of the "Evening give sixteen pages of letter-press and a good engraving for Mirror." |