which blazes for a moment athwart the skyand that a tenfold curse rests on him, who prositutes the noble and exalting emulation which the Creator has implanted in our bosoms, to vile and ignoble purposes-who abuses acquired power for the purpose of oppression-converts the sweet and fragrant flowers of literature into the deadly nightshade, and the hopes and consolations of Religion and virtue, into gall, and wormwood. L. G. C. Philadelphia, 1829.

EXTRACTS FROM "THE DISOWNED."

summit of our cell. Fools-fools that we are, then, to imagine that the works of our later years shall savor of the freedom and aspirations of our youth; or that amidst all which hourly and momentarily recals and binds our hearts and spirits to the eternal 'self,' we can give life, and zest, and vigor, to the imaginary actions and sentiments of another!"

"Our first era of life is under the influence of the primitive feelings; we are pleased, and we laugh; hurt, and we weep; we vent out little passions the moment they are excited; and so much of novelty have we to perceive, that we have little leisure to reflect. By and

when displeased, we seek to revenge the displeasure, and are punished; we find the excess of our joy, our sorrow, our anger, alike considered criminal, and chidden into restraint. From harshness we become acquainted with deceit the promise made is not fulfilled, the threat not executed, the fear falsely excited, and the hope wilfully disappointed; we are surrounded by systematised delusion, and we imbibe the contagion. From being forced into concealing the thoughts which we do conceive, we begin to affect those which we do not so early do we learn the two main tasks of life to suppress and to feign, that our memory will not carry us beyond that period of artifice to a state of nature when the twin principles of veracity and belief were so strong as to lead the philosophers of a modern school into the error of terming them innåte.

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"As the pretty fish, which is fabled to possees the property of arresting the progress of the largest vessel to which it clings-even so may a single prejudice, unnoticed or despised, more than the adverse blast, or the dead calm, delay the Bark of Knowledge in the vast seas of Time.

"How little, when we read the work, doby, fear teaches us to restrain our feelings : we care for the author! How little do we reck of the sorrow from which a jest has been forced, or the weariness that an incident has beguiled! But the power to fly from feeling, the recompense of literature for its heart-burnings and cares, the disappointment and the anxiety, the cavil and the censure sharp,'even this passes away, and custom drags on the dull chain which enthusiasm once so passionately wore! Alas, for the age when, in the creation of fiction, we lose the bitterness and barrenness of truth! The sorrows of youth, if not wholly ideal, borrow at least from the imagination their color and their shape. What marvel, then, that from the imagination come also their consolation and their hope? But now, in manhood, our fancy constitutes but little of our afflictions, and presents to us no avenues for escape. In the toil, the fret, the hot, the unquiet, the exhausting engrossments of maturer years, how soon the midnight lamp loses its enchantment, and the noon-day visions their spell! We are bound by a thousand galling and grinding ties to this hard and unholy earth. We become helots of the soil of dust and clay; denizens of the poluted smoke, the cabined walls, and the stony footing of the inhospitable world. What now have our griefs with the moonlit melancholy,' the gentle tenderness of our young years? Can we tell them any more to the woods and waterfalls? Can we make for them a witness of the answering sea, or the sympathizing stars? Alas! they have now neither commune nor consolation in the voices of nature or the mysteries of romance; they have become the petty stings and the fall ing drops, the irritating and vexing littlenesses of life; they have neither dignity on the one hand, nor delusion on the other. One by one they cling around us, like bands of iron; they multiply their links; they grow over our hearts; and the feelings, once too wild for the very earth, fold their broken wings within the soul. Dull and heavy thoughts, like dead walls, close around the laughing flowers and fields that so enchanted us of yore; the sins, the habits, the reasonings of the world, like rank and gloomy fogs, shut out the exulting heavens from our view; the limit of our wandering becomes the length of our chain; the height of our soarings, the

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"Never get a reputation for a small perfection, if you are trying for fame in a loftier area the world can only judge by generals; it sees that those who pay considerable attention to minutiæ, seldom their minds occupied with great things. There are, it is true, exceptions; but to exceptions the world does not attend."

"I believe,' answered Mordaunt,' that it is from our ignorance that our contentions flow; we debate with strife and with wrath, with bickering and with hatred; but of the thing debated upon, we remain in the profoundest darkness. Like the laborers of Babel, while we endeavour in vain to express our meaning to each other, the fabric by which for a common end, we would have ascended to heaven from the ills of earth, remains forever unadvanced and incomplete. Let us hope that knowledge i the universal language which shall re-unite us. As, in their sublime allegory, the Romans signified, that only through virtue we arrived at honor, so let us believe, that only through knowledge can we arrive at virtue !' And yet,' said

us, admits no doubt of the truth of this observation. However great our friendship or esteem may be of any man, prudence directs us to be very cautious, and to make our own bosoms only the repository of the latent secrets of our hearts. The old proverb truly says, "The words of a wise man lie at the root of his own tongue; but those of a fool play on the tip of it."

AMERICAN RUSTIC HOSPITALITY.—Return

ing from one of these excursions, I was over-
taken by the night, and found my path obstruct-
ed by a deep inlet from the river, which, being
choked with logs and brush, could not be cros-
opposite side, I called for assistance.
sed by swimming. Observing a house on the
A half

piqued herself, began to cut it up by first taking off the leg. Madam, cries my friend, if I be permitted to advise, I would begin by cutting off the wing, and then the leg will come off more easily. Sir, replies the widow, give me leave to understand cutting up a fowl-I always begin with the leg. Yes, madam, replies the lover, but if the wing be the most convenient manner, I would begin with the wing. Sir, interrupts the lady, when you have fowls of your own, begin with the wing if you please, but give me leave to take off the leg I hope I am not to be taught at this time of day. Madam, interrupts he, we are never too old to be instructed. Old, sir, interrupts the other who is old?-When I die of age, I know of some that will quake for fear. If the leg does not come off take the turkey to your-naked, ill-looking fellow came down, and after self. Madam, replied the man in black, I do dragging a canoe round from the river, with not care a farthing whether the leg or the wing some trouble, ferried me over, and I followed comes off: if you are for the leg first, why you him to his habitation, near to which our boat shall have the argument, even though it be as was moored for the night. His cabin was of I say. As for the matter of that, cries the the meanest kind, consisting of a single apartwidow, I do not care a fig whether you are forment, constructed of logs, which contained a the leg off or on, and friend for the future keep your distance. O, replied the other, that is easily done; it is only removing to the other end of the table, and so madam, your most obedient humble servant.

BRAVEY.

Bravery and liberality are two qualities

which seldom fail to attract the esteem of mortals: the first displays a contempt of life, and the second regards riches with an eye of indifference: two things to which men in common show the strongest attachment.

However, the excess of either merits contempt: for, whenever we lose sight of prudence, the first becomes temerity, and the second prodigality--two vices as prejudicial to our hapiness as they are contemptible in the eyes of the wise. Temerity prevents a man from thinking of the true value of life, and exposes him to the dangers of death on the most trifling occasions, while prodigality, not reflecting on the bitterness of want, prostitutes itself to contempt inseparable from poverty. When bravery is not accompanied by the virtues, it || places a man in an awkward situation, since courage can be displayed only against enemies. When the sword of war is sheathed, bravery then languishes.

TEMPER.

The temper of mankind is so inconsistent,|| that he who to-day loads us with caresses, may to-morrow conceive for us a hatred which breathes nothing but our ruin: so that the confidence we have placed in a person whom we considered as a valuable friend, may one day, when his sentiments for us change, forge those words which we have incautiously entrusted him with, into arrows that may deeply wound us. The daily experience this world affords

family of seven or eight souls, and every thing seemed to designate him as a new and unthrifty settler. After drinking a bowl of milk, which I really called for by way of excuse for paying him a little more for his trouble, I asked to know his charge for ferrying me over the water, to which he good-humoredly replied, that he never took money for helping a traveller on his way." "Then let me pay you for your milk." "I never sell milk." "But," said I, urging him, "I would rather pay you, I have money enough." "Well," said he, "I have milk enough, so we're even; I have as good a right to give you milk as you have to give me money."-Judge Hall's Letters from the West.

TIME IS AN UNSEEN, A NOISELESS

TRAVELLER.

It is not the object of any one of our senses. We can trace the features and the movements of almost every object that is dear to us, pleasing to our fancy or gratifying to our feelings. But we cannot trace the movements of time.They are hidden in impenetrable darkness.Covered with mysteries we cannot unravel. All we know of the movements of time, is from its loss. We behold the threatening Heavens, the big black cloud rolling onward, armed for destruction. We see the proud waves lifting up their billowy foam far up in ether.-The thunder rolls furiously, and we tremble. The vivid lightnings flash and glare upon us in forky flames, and we involuntarily close our eyes with terror-but the lapse of time is silent and unseen. It steals along invisible to mortal ken, without a sound, noiseless as the football of fabled sprite or disembodied ones. As it journeys towards Eternity, the flowers of spring wither, the beauty of summer fades, the richness of Autumn passes away. Its effacing fingers almost imperceptibly furrow the face of

beauty, and fritter away the stamina of the human constitution. Although unseen in its flight, yet it never ceases to carry us forward, borne up upon its silken wing, till we plunge into unknown regions, where our fellow traveller accompanies us, bearing along with him the history of our unprofitable lives, inscribed in the characters of living light.--Maffitt.

LIVING BY THE WITS.

firm it by an appeal to his own case. His companion burst out into a loud laugh, and said to him, in a toue of mockery, "Why you fool, how could St. Dennis contrive to kiss his own head? was it with his heel?" This unexpected repartee struck the lunatic forcibly; he retired quite confused, amidst the laughter that it produced; and he never after spoke of the misplacement of his head.

BON MOTS.

A horseman stopped at Harding's, opposite Fair Mount, and, without dismounting, called for a pint of beer. He liked it, and took another. After the second,- "Landlord, whose

Johnson, have you heard, Sir, that Foote "Have you heard, Sir," said Boswell to Dr. has been kicked at the Coffee House in Dublin?" "Why, no sir," said the Doctor, "I had not heard it. It is a proof, Sir, that the fellow is rising into public notice---when he was here nobody thought him worth kicking."

THE BEGGAR.---A beggar, asking charity of a gentleman, told him, that he was a poor tradesman. "I should rather think," said the gentleman, " you were a solicitor."

London abounds with sharpers who obtain licenses to become pawnbrokers, hawkers, and pedlars, and auctioneers; others who raise money by pretending to be discounters of bills and money brokers; cheats who set up gaming houses; and unlicensed insurers of lottery tick-beer is this?" "Perot's, sir." "It is excellent ets; Jews who pretend to buy old clothes and stuff---I'll get off and try some." metals; people who sell provisions and other articles by false weights and measures; swindlers who contrive to defraud tradesmen of goods; cheats who take genteel lodgings under false names; who personate tradesmen, servants, or gentlemen's footmen; who associate to make a prey of the ignorant; who attend inns at the time coaches and wagons are loading and unloading; who go from door to door soliciting contributions to charitable societies; female sharpers, fortune tellers, and among the rest, female bankers. These last accommodate barrow women and others who sell fish, fruit, &c. with five shillings a day (the usual durable stock in trade) for the use of which twelve hours they obtain a premium of sixpence, when the money is returned in the evening, receiving thereby at this rate, about seven pounds ten shillings a year, on every five shillings they lend out. In contemplating this scheme of banking, trifling as it may seem to be, it is impossible not to be struck with the immense profits which arise from it. It is only necessary for one of these female sharpers to possess a capital of seventy shillings with fourteen steady customers, in order to realize an annual income of one hundred guineas.

A CORDIAL WELCOME.---A porter meeting an old acquaintance one day, in the street, (a

good humored merry fellow) insisted on his go-
ing with him to take a glass of spirils. "Ah!"
said the other, 66
you always give your friends

a cordial welcome."

A THANK ILL-PLACED.---" How do you do, sare?" said a Frenchman to an English acquaintance. "Rather poorly, thank you," answered the other. "Nay, my dear sare,?' said the Frenchman, "don't thank me for your illness, I cannot help it."

CHEAP PUBLICATION.---An Irishman seeing a work advertised, entitled "Endless Amusement," remarked, that it would be a cheap work to whoever could live long enough to read it.

at his diminutive crooked statue, cried out, "God mend you, indeed! it would be less trouble to make a new one."

A TRICK.-One of the most eminent watchmakers in Paris became deranged, from prosecuting the idea of perpetual motion. His derangement was characterised by this singulari--boy, to whom he had refused a penny looking Pope's oath was, "God mend me,"—A link ty, he believed he had been guillotined, that his head had been mixed with those of some other victims, and that the judges, repenting of their cruel verdict, had ordered the heads to be replaced on their respective bodies. By some mistake, he conceived that the head of one of his unfortunate companions had been placed upon his shoulders; and this idea haunted him night and day. A convalescent, of a lively and jocular turn, was engaged to play the following trick upon the artist:-Their conversation was directed to the celebrated miracle of St. Dennis, who carried his head under his ar, and kissed it as he went along. The watchmaker vehemently maintained the possibility of the fact, and endeavored to con

Every man has in his own life follies enough in his own mind, troubles enough-in the performance of his duties, deficiencies enough -in his own fortune, evils enough-without being curious after the affairs of others.

If you never judge another till you have calmly observed him, till you have heard him, heard him out, put him to the test, and compared him with yourself and others, you will never judge unjustly, you will only repair whatever precipitately has escaped you.