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how perpetually must those who are in the || cannot be compaired to it. It is in truth the habit of contemplating childhood-of study-best of her works. Some of her other producing the characters of little children feel and repeat to their own hearts-"Of such is the kingdom of heaven!"-Aye which of us, of the wisest among us, may not stoop to receive instruction and rebuke from the character of a little child?-Which of us, by comparison with its divine simplicity, has not reason to blush for the littleness, the insincerity, the worldliness, the degeneracy of his own.

DESTINY.-Hunt has recorded in the "Periodical of Pisa" one of those little tales, so common in the east, inculcating the great|| oriental dogma of fatality. Solomon was walking in his garden with one of his attendants, when they observed a strange and fearful figure approaching them. "Solomon," said the attendant," who is that strange and mysterious being, his appearance fills me with dread; send me, I pray thee, to the remotest mountain of India." The king in his quality of magician sent him thither. The figure approaching said, "Solomon, how came that man here? My errand was to seize him on the farthest mountain of India." "Angel of death," replied Solomon, "thou wilt find him there."

THE MIND.-The mind of man, when nicely scrutinized, exhibits the most astonishing phenomena. It possesses the features of a divine origin. How wonderful and multiplied are its powers! The understanding perceives, the will rules, the operations of the mind develope a variety of emotions, generally termed affections or passions.-The understanding is intimately connected with thought, imagination, memory and conscience. The will unites with choice, desire and determination, and in the train of the affections and passions, flow love and hatred, joy and grief, meekness, and hope, and fear. All these, though we should pronounce them at first glance, seperate and distinct powers or faculties of the soul independent of each other, are but one simple, uncompounded principle, putting forth its energies in a variety of forms.-Maffit.

MARIA REGINA ROCHE.--Miss Maria Regina Roche was born in England, and has made herself known, in the republic of letters, by a number of interesting Romances. Her writings have had a fashionable success, not only in the country in which they were composed, but also in France and Germany, where good translators have made them known and sought after. One of her translators, M. Morrellet, himself a distinguished literary man, has said, in speaking of Miss Roche: Of the modern English romances, (Walter Scott had not then published any of his works.) without excepting those of Miss Burney, which have a reputation so merited, none can be preferred to the Children of the Abbey, and the greater part

tions have been censured for a want of probability even in the fable and a too frequent use of the marvellous, after the example of Mrs. Radcliffe, and some imitations of Fielding, Stern, and Miss Berney; but these critics have little relish for writings of Miss Roche, who has always found a number of readers, and particularly among the ladies." She has written the Vicar of Lansdown, 2 vols; The Maid of the Hamlet; The Children of the Abbey, 4 vols. translated into French by M. Morrellet; Clermont, 4 vols; The Nocturnal Visit, 4 vols; The Banished Son, 5 vols; The Houses of Osma and Almira, 3 vols; The Monastery of St. Columbia, 5 vols; The Trecolpeck Bower, 3 vols ; &c. This lady is still living, and continues, from time to time, to amuse the public by her agreeable fictions. None, however, have attained the celebrity of her Children of the Abbey, which, though now superseded by the more masterly productions of Walter Scott, was once in the hands of almost every novel reader in Europe and

America.

CERVANTES.-Cervantes, the author of a romance which all ages and nations have agreed to consider inimitable, was either impelled by his vanity, (of which he had his share,) or forced by his misfortunes, (of which he had more than his share,) to attempt dramatic writing, a species of composition requiring a peculiarity of talent, seldom found to exist in a successful novelist. His plays were all either rejected by the performers, or damned by the audience; who, if they have shown themselves very silly in the treatment of some plays by other authors, certainly prove themselves to possess a little common sense in their reception of these.

A sketch of one, (he did not print half the number that he wrote,) will serve He manufactured an affair, which may to give some idea of his dramatic skill. be denominated in English," The Sainted Scoundrel:" the hero of which is represented as being 'the exceedingest knave' in all Seville, a city formerly notorious for inquisitors and sour oranges. He is at last converted and changed to a priest, and as might be expected from his previous reputation for wickedness, he becomes so sanctimonious and exem

plary, that he is singled out by Old Nick, from the crowd of devout fanatics, as a peculiar subject for torment and tempta

tion.

a fawning air in his every motion. If you have no personal beauties yourself he will allude to those of your relatives or friends-if you have no mental qualifications, he will praise those of a personal nature-if you are not of a good family, he will call such a distinction vain and futile-and if you have no particular

The spectators are amused and edified by various terrible battles betwixt these two worthies, (the priest and the devil,) in which the former always comes off victorious. Our holy hero is called to the death bed of a sinful woman, whose crimes are so numerous, that, hopeless of absolution, she refuses to confess, until the devotee, in a tran-admiration for any object, he will make sport of enthusiasm or curiosity, proposes to exchange with her his virtues for her vices, in order that she may have the greatest chance for heaven. The proposal is accepted: she confesses, and a Covoy of angels bear her lucky soul to paradise, while a congregation of infernal spirits attack the magnanimous philanthropist, and afflict him with boils and ulcers. From their machinations he is again rescued by his faith and to cut the matter short, after working a few miracles to prove his right to canonization, death draws the curtain of futurity from before his eyes, and the players drop the curtain of the theatre before those of the spectators.

FAWNING.

that the theme of his plaudits, and thus
in some trifle or other, discover a tangi-
ble point of attact. There are but few
individuals who are not susceptible of
flattery, when dexterously applied. The
most of mankind have some quality of
which they are in a certain measure
vain. It is this weakness of human na-
ture that renders men liable to be duped
by the sycophant. Throw self out of
the question, and people would seldom
make arrant fools of themselves. But
get a man to conceive he is endowed
with some peculiar faculty in an eminent
degree, and he will make himself ridic-
ulous in a short time, whilst attempting
to develope this to others. It is to the
vain and ignorant that fawning is a pleas-
ant tribute. Yet men of the soundest
minds, are frequently particularly tangi-
ble to the arts of the parasite.
It is so
pleasant to be genteely bespattered with
praise-so agreeable to be called a be-
ing of wonder-that the spell when
magically woven, is irresistible. In
monarchial governments, a circle of sy-
cophants is the necessary appendage of
every man in power. Their business
is to flatter his follies, and perform the
underhand business of his office. They
are a kind of spies retained in the ser-
vice-a sort of machinery that moves
with the changes of his countenance. In

Sycophants of every character are contemptible. He that will flatter for gain, would plunder for the same object, under other circumstances. Nothing is so contemptible as the man who sells his judgement for profit-nothing so detestable as a hireling pander. He that will fawn upon you in the hope of obtaining a favor, will slander you in revenge if unsuccessful. The smile of the sycophant is ever dangerous-there is a curse lurking in his heart. The praise of a parasite is the food of treachery-shun it as you would the fascination of a serpent. From such, curses are fara republic like ours, affairs are not carbetter than adulation-the one may be ried to quite so great an extent. Yet provided against-the other has a con- men in office have their parasites-their cealed purpose, and may not. He that eddies that undulate as the great founwould lick your feet in prosperity, will tain evolves a bubble--cringing sycoscorn you in adversity. The mind that phants that have no opinions of their own, is regulated by fortune is blended with and whose souls are bartered for a straw. a corrupt heart. Independence of spirit Of all species of fawning, that is the hath no change in all relations of life, most abject and servile, which is entireits emanations are governed by one ly subservient to the will of some affluprinciple. A sycophant may be discov-ent fool. To be subjected to the anaered in the most trifling action. A smile thema of his ignorance and the curse of is almost perpetually upon his counte- his passion-to quail at his frown, and nance-a compliment in his mouth-and || cringe when he threatens to advocate

some absurd project, in direct oppoistion to better judgment-there are human beings who do all this, and revel in its performance.--Phil. Album.

EXTRACT. The heart of man, after it becomes sordid and worldly, retains many delicious sentiments of young remembrance, as the withered rose does the sweet perfume of its beautiful blushing; but of all the gentle affections of generous humanity, there is none that endureth longer, nor beareth fresher, so much of the pure, the excellent, and the exquisite, as the gracious largeness of parental love. It is the artery supplieth the equality of tenderness in the spirit of man and all that hath the holy name of charity and mercy, draw some portion of their virtue from its ventricle. But in its flowing, there is a mystery to cause both wonder and sorrow: for often it engendereth but aches and anguish ; and yet to those to whom it is a fountain of such affliction, it would seem to give only an augmentation of delight-making them cling to their children long after they have outgrown all need of care; yea, prompting them to encounter singular humilizations, and to fondle over them, even while they are fatally tainted with the foul plaguespots of crime, as if they loved the more because they esteem the less.

RELIGION OF CHINA.-Dr. Milne says that every kind of idolatry exists in China. The Chinese have gods of the hills, of the vallies, of the woods, of the shop, of the kitchen; they adore gods who are supposed to preside over the thunder, the rain, the fire, the grain, the small pox, births and deaths; they worship the sun, moon and stars, and the genii of the mountains, rivers, lakes, and seas; they address prayers to the spirits of departed kings, sages, heroes and parents, and have idols of gold, wood, stone and clay. Every one possesses charms and spells, which are hung about the neck, stitched in the cloths, tied to bed posts, or written on the door. The Emperor, statesmen, philosophers, merchants and people are idolaters. Many of the learned affect to despise the superstitions of the people, and to worship only heaven and the earth,but at the hour of death, not knowing the true God, they send for the priests of false gods to pray for them. In health they laugh at the fooleries of the more idolatrous 'sects, but in sickness employ the priests to offer masses, write charms, ring bells, &c.-Hamp. Gaz.

SILLIMAN'S JOURNAL.-This periodical, which is devoted to the Arts and Sciences, is now at its fifteenth number.-There never has been a publication so extensively circulated in our country, or whose objects were more calculated to advance the general views of literature. It is a credit to our nation, and it has long been considered as standard authority among foreign nations. As a guide to the natural features of our country, its geological botanical and zoological productions, it is invaluable. Its editor has long sustained the Professor's chair of Yale College with honor to himself, and credit to the institution. Every lover of the sciences should be a patron of this work. New York Opera Glass.

hand in hand, because the parents of the lady

Two lovers, at Paris, lately hung themselves

would not consent to their marrying.

A merchant who lately advertised for a clerk who could bear confinement, has been answered by one who has lain seven years in jail.

Yankee Story. A living eel is said to have been found in a duck's egg, at New Bedford.

Married,

In this town, on the 13th inst. by the Rev.

Mr. Miller, Mr. George Perrin, to Miss Hannah C. Chamberlin, daughter of Mr. Harmon Chamberlin, all of this town.

In Providence, by Rev. Mr Edes, Mr. Jonathan Gladding, to Miss Amey Stoddard.

In Smithfield, Mr. George A. Streeter, to Miss Ann Francis Sprague.

In Shrewsbury, on the 1st inst. by Rev. Mr. Allen, Mr. Whisken Whitney, of Bolton, to widow Lydia Who, of Harvard.

In Columbia, S. Carolina, on the 31st July last, Mr. Frederick W. Green, (late of Worcester,) to Miss Sarah Briggs, daughter of Mr. William Briggs, of Columbia.

Died,

In Leicester, on the 27th inst. Miss Charlot Draper, daughter of David Draper, aged 23 years.

In Westford, Jesse Minott, Esq. aged 69, formerly a representative of that town in the Legislature.

In this town, on the 17th inst. Mr. Jonathan Grout, aged 85.

In Hubbardston, Sept. 26, Col. Moses Greenwood, aged 42.

In New London, Conn. John C. Brainard, Esq. former editor of the Connecticut Mirror. In New York, Count D'Espinville, Consul of France at New York.

In Newport, Miss Louisa Brown, eldest daughter of Mr. Thomas W. Brown, aged 20. In Salem, Sally Parker, aged 2 years.

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POETRY.

FOR THE TALISMAN.

THANATOPSIS.

"Were death denied, poor man would live

in vain ;

Were death denied, to live would not be life;
Were death denied, e'en fools would wish
to die."
YOUNG.

Then what is it to die, that it should be
Essential to our happiness? It is

To throw off all things worldly, all the dross
That man is heir to, and go forth again
Clad in the vestment of our better being.
And what is it to die? it is to cast
This mortal off for immortality.
It is to leave this solitary sphere,
This lone companion of material worlds,
And wing our flight to blessedness. It is
To take a spiritual image, and soar on
To unknown regions, to unfathomed worlds,
And hold high converse with the mighty dead.
'Tis to depart from this precarious home,
Where life is bounded, and its little span
Marked out by moments; where the material

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years

Dwindle to moments, and a moment grows
Into the length of ages; where the past
And future meet in one eternal present.
And what is it to die? 'tis to begin
The glorious journey of the human soul,
Towards infinite perfection. 'Tis to leave
The troubles and afflictions that attend
The attributes of time, and in a state
Of meet and fitting purity, to hail

An everlasting, an eternal day

Of joy and happiness. It is to go
And traverse regions and inhabit realms
Which we had often heard of, but of which
We had no real knowledge. 'Tis to go
And search the mysteries of the universe,
And read in Heaven's high record-book, the
laws

Which govern worlds unaumbered *

** *

*

There was one Whom I had known from infancy; one whom I loved to claim as kindred, who was called Away from earth and all its glittering things, To claim his heavenly mansion. He was one Whose heart was stamped in virtue, and his soul

Was dimed not, tarnished not by the world's vice.

'Twas autumn and a chill and withering breath Blew o'er the flowers of summer; earth's

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"Take back the ring-take back the ring." 'Tis valueless to me,

I would not that the fragile thing,
Should make one thought of thee.
The gem is rayless now, and dead,
It is no longer mine-
Its former lustre, all is fled,
And so alas! has thine.

On Friendship's hand, I once believed
It could not fade-'tis strange
I thought so! but I was deceived-
Time, thou hast wrought a change.
No art can now repair the gem,

No power, thy truth restore-
Believe me, friendship's diadem

Once tarnished, beams no more!

EPIGRAM.

When Harry was old, to Maria he said, "My dear, if you please, we will marry;" Maria replied, with a toss of her head,

"I never will wed thee, Old Harry!"

He waited till all her gay suiters were gone, Then cried, "a fine dance they have led you; The hand that I proffered, you treated with

scorn.

And now the OLD HARRY wont wed you!"

OVER THE SEA.

Over the sea-over the sea,

Lies the land that is loved by me ;
A sunnier sky may be o'er my head;
And a richer soil beneath my tread,
And a softer speech in my ears be rung
Than the notes of my own wild mountain
tongue,

But never, oh never, so dear to me

Can the loveliest spot in this wide world be As the bleak cold land where the heather

waves

Round the place of my birth-o'er my father's graves.

WORCESTER TALISMAN. Published every other Saturday morning, by DORR & HOWLAND, Worcester, (Mass.) at $1 a year, payable in advance.

Agents paying five dollars will be enti led to receive SIX copies.

Letters, intended for THE TALISMAN, must be post paid to insure attention.

GRIFFIN AND MORRILL....PRINTERS.

NO. V.

THE

Worcester Talisman.

NOVEMBER 15, 1828.

VOL. I.

POPULAR TALES.

FOR THE TALISMAN.
MARY BENSON.

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James, I did not speak of his sincerity, possibly he may have a friendly regard for you; but we must, before placing our unlimited affections upon a person, thoroughly investigate his whole character, and especially, be well acquainted with his standing in society and his name in the world. We are too much prone to be easily captivated by external appearances, personal beauty, and artificial accomplishments. Marriage, my daughter, is a subject of too great importance to be trifled with; it is the greatest step which we can take dur

"The good are better made by ill As odours crushed are sweeter still."-Rogers. Ah, my child, said Hannah Benson to her daughter, a bright eyed damsel, full of sentiment, love and poetry," you have yet seen and known but little of this deceitful world, and you must consider that inexperienced as you are, your judgment cannot haveing existence, and therefore, like a blind man, arrived to a sufficient maturity to stand in competition against that of those who have arrived to a considerable age, and been accustomed, for a long time, to view men, their manners and their characters, with a candid and impartial eye."

we should examine and become acquainted with the ground before us, ere we trust ourselves upon it. Remember that when the barrier is once passed, we never can return; our destiny is marked out for the future,and escape is impossible. We cannot scrutinize with too "But mother" rejoined Mary, you will not scrupulous an eye him upon whom we bestow hesitate to acknowledge that I have been an our love and expect to call our own; we must inhabitant of this bright world a sufficient time, be wholly convinced that we can live happiand seen enough of the beings by which it is ly with him. We must carry ourselves forpeopled, to have a judgment of my own, which ward in imagination, through a few years of can discriminate between beauty and defor-wedded life, and consider if we shall then be mity, worth and worthlessness." "Indeed you || happy. Yet paint not those days of futurity may, when a person appears to be what he with that halcyon light which is thrown arealy is, but experience must teach us to fath-round the present; garnish them not with om the heart, in order to know the real character." But I must tell you, that in you I have the sorrow to behold a painful instance of the misguided affections of inexperienced and untutored youth; and in James, the person upon whom your fond attachment is placed, I mourn to discern the fickleheartedness of man, and with what ease deceit will throw a cloak over an abandoned heart.

"It is painful indeed to hear such words from a mother, a mother too in whom I have ever found all the tenderness that is attached to that name; but, although I would not wilfully arraign my judgment against yours, although it may be rending to your bosom, and overthrow all fair, delightful expectations in your daughter, and, although I may perchance be accused of a want of filial affection, yet I must acknowledge that I cannot but believe him to be sincere; it were ungenerous, ungrateful in me even to harbor a doubt respecting his sincerity, and

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"Mary, I cannot accuse you of a want of affection towards me, the lapse of seventeen happy summers has proved your regard; and concerning

those gaudy colorings, but behold them marred and tarnished with the cares and afflictions of life. Imagine the truth of our situation then by seeing it in others now. But alas, you young people are too enthusiastic in your love, too warm and generous in your feelings; you behold a person young, handsome, genteel and accomplished; he immediately captivates your hearts, and you brand him with the mark of perfection's paragon. Your day-dreams are inhabited by his presence, and your midnight visions are peopled with his form; and alas, you persuade yourselves that you are actually in love. But as I mentioned before, earthly goodness is not to be measured by external endowments, or worldly happiness to be found in gaudy dress."

"What!" answered Mary, "would you make me a convert to a belief in that cold and heartless love which is nursed up in the frigid atmosphere of reason and philosophy? "No, such love may answer for those who are far advanced in life, those who have passed the grand climacteric, at which all that is tender and feeling in the human heart becomes dormant ;

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