MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER, 
A LITTLE BIRD I AM. 
[The following poem was composed by Madame Guy- 
on during her imprisonment Louis XIV., wlio bad re¬ 
voked the Edict of Nantes, and broken up the assem¬ 
blies of Protestants by force of arms, was afraid that, 
through the agency of this accomplished iady, another 
Protestantism might threaten the peace of France. He 
accordingly, in the exercise of arbitrary power ordered 
her to be confined in a small room in the Convent of 
St. Marie. ] 
A little bird I am 
Shut from the fields of air ; 
And in my cage I sit and sing 
To him who placed me there ; 
Well pleased a prisoner to he, 
Because, my God, it pleases Thee. 
Naught have I else to do ; 
I sing the whole day long, 
And He whom most I love to please 
Doth listen to my song ; ! 
He caught and hound my wandering wing. ' 
But still He bends to hear mo sing. 
Thou hast an ear to hear ; 
A heart to love and bless ; 
And, though my notes were ne’er so rude, 
Thou wouldst not hear the less ; 
Because Thou knowest as they fall, 
That love, sweet love inspires them all. 
My cage confines me round ; 
Abroad I cannot fly ; 
But, though my wing is closely bound, 
. My beirt’s at liberty. 
My prison walls cannot control 
The flight, the freedom of ths soul. 
Oh, it is good to soar 
These holts and bars above, 
To Him whose purpose I adore, 
Whose Province I love ; 
And in Thy mighty will to find 
The joy, the freedom of the mind ! 
ERRANDS OF THE BREEZE 
Wh extract the following exquisite mor- 
ceau from the “ Bizarre ,” a singular, graceful, 
quaint and scholarly magazine, published m 
Philadelphia. The article reminds us, in its 
style, of many of the German writers cf “ the 
second school 
Sweet evening breeze! said the birds perch¬ 
ed upon the ledge of their nests, bear our lays 
to the young maiden musing up yonder, seat¬ 
ed at her window ; murmur that it is for her 
we perform our concerts amongst the trees.— 
Tes, said the lark, it is I who awaken her in 
the morning. And it i3 I who sing her to 
sleep said tire nightingale. 
Sweet evening breeze! said the church bell, 
take my chime upon thy wings and bear it 
to the contemplative maid as she looks forth 
upon the landscape. My silver notes will re¬ 
call the little church in which she has kneeled, 
and the happy tranquility which she then ex¬ 
perienced. 
Sweet evening breeze! said the cricket, hid¬ 
den beneath the grain, take our thrill upon 
thy wings, and bear it to the young maiden. 
It will bring to her mind Ihe ripe harvest, and 
the field flowers she wove into chaplets in her 
younger days. 
Sweet evening breeze! said the young man, 
sitting alone in his lighted closet, to her mus¬ 
ing afar, up there, seated at her window, con¬ 
vey the words of my lips, and murmur them 
softly in her ear. Waft away my thoughts 
and let them fall gently upon her soul. 'Fake 
my kisses and fix them upon her forehead, 
when thou caressest her golden locks. Bear 
upon thy wings this love of mine for her, with 
all its tears, its smiles, its fears and its hope3, 
; bear them all to the young girl who is rnusiDg 
far away there, seated at her window. 
And the breeze flew with its most rapid 
flight to perform its messages. 
Evening breeze ! said the young girl, go say 
to the birds that they shall call me if they fall 
into the hands of the fowler ; I will go and 
deliver them from tbe cage and net, and will 
give them back their open sky and their nests 
in the wood3. 
Sav to the bell on the church top chiming, 
that I do not forget its little chapel—that its 
mellow sounds dispel all unholy thoughts ; 
and moderate the throbbings of my heart. 
Say to the crickets of the field that I re¬ 
member .them. When the snow will cover 
the plain I will give them a nest in the old 
fireplace, where we assemble during the long 
evenings of winter. 
Sweet evening breeze! to the young man 
alone, afar down there, in his lighted closet, 
bear upon thy wings this scarf embroidered by 
my hands. The flowers that deck it have re¬ 
ceived the dew from my eyes, and my lips have 
oft confided to it the secret of my heart. 
Sweet evening breeze! bear my love upon 
thy wings. 
And the breeze fled fraught with its new 
messages. 
An Unimaginative Wife. —Jean Paul, in 
his inimitable “Fruit, Flower and Thorn 
Pieces,” draws an amusing picture of the 
matter-of-faet spouse of unpractical Sieben- 
kas :—“ She could count the strokes of the 
town clock between her husband’s kisses, and 
could listen and run off to the saucepan that 
was boiling over, with the big tears in her 
eye 3 which he had pressed out of her melting 
heart by a touching story or sermon. She 
accompanied in her devotion the Sunday 
hymns, which echoed loudly from the neigh¬ 
boring apartments, and in the midst of a verse 
she would intervene the prosaic question :— 
< What shall I warm up for supper V and he 
could never banish from his remembrance that 
once, when she was quite touched, and, listen¬ 
ing to his cabinet discourse on death and 
eternity, she looked at him thoughtfully, but 
towards his feet, and at length said : ‘ Don’t 
put on the left stocking to-morrow—I must 
first darn it.’ ” 
If a person delights in telling you the faults 
of others, be sure he intends to tell others 
your faults. 
THE FAMILIES OE POETS, 
THE MILL PRIVILEGE. 
For Moore’s Sural New-Yorker. 
WHEN I WOULD AVISH TO DIE. 
I would not wish to die 
In frosty Winter, when the chilling winds 
Play wildly through the gray old leafless trees, 
’T would seem so cheerless, then, to lay me down, 
To my long sleep, beneath the cold white snow, 
Where none could coma to ponder on their loss, 
Or shed their toars above my quiet grave. 
I would not wish to die in sunny Spring 
When all things else bogin anew to live— 
When birds pour out their cheerful songs afresh, 
And warm and bright the sun shines over all. 
0, moist of all, I would not wish to leave 
The beauteous scenes of earth, whon Summer reigns 
So queen-like. 0, I could not bear to go 
From flowers, and trees, and birds in their young life. 
Without a pang of wo that I must die 
While all things lovely live. 
But I must go 
Sometime, and would not die alone, but when 
The leaves turn bright, and rustling fali to earth, 
To hide themselves upon their mo thers breast, 
Whon sunny things take silent leave of life— 
With them, I’d pass away, aud make my grave 
In some dim vale, within the quiet woods 
Where leafy shadows danse upon the spot, 
And zephyrs through the branches murmuringly 
Will chmt my requiem. 0, I shall rest 
Most sweetly there, when, waving melody, 
My much-loved minstrels have their harps in tune. 
Bethany, N. Y., 1S56. a, m. m. 
It is impossible to contemplate the early [Concluded from page 356, this number.] 
death of Byron’s first child, without reflecting « So do. Bat remember the mill privilege 
sadly on the fates of the families of our great- j 3 yours if you want it, and may put up a mill 
est poets. . on it without cost, provided my offer does not 
Shakspeare and Milton each died without gu }t you.” 
a son, but both left daughters, and both names The two young men went away about nme 
I are extinct. _ ^ o’clock,but they felt sure that they should take 
Addison had only one child—a daughter— up with the last offer, though upon a thing of 
a girl of some five or six years at her father’s snc h extent they wanted time to reflect. 
death. She died unmarried, at the age of On the next morning, early, Mr. Tatnall was 
eighty years or more. i at Winthrop’a door.' He wanted to buy a 
Farquhar left tw o girls dependeut on the large lot of intervale woodland, which lay next 
friendship of his friend—Wilkes the actor— to his own on the river. But Mr. Winthrop I 
who stood nobly by them while he lived. WO uld listen to nothing of the kind. Mr. 
They had a small pension from the Govern- Tatnall held on, for he felt sure of the mill 
ment; and having outlived their father, and being built on his own land, and he wanted 
seen his reputation unalterably established, a u the neighboring lumber. He swore at 
both died unmarried. _ Winthrop for his “ obstinacy,” but the latter 
The son and daughter of Coleridge both on iy laughed, 
died childless. > That afternoon Messrs. Farnsworth and 
The two sons of Walter Scott died without Ridgely called upon Tatnall, and informed 
children—one of the two daughters died un^ bim that, they had concluded not to buy of 
married, and the Scotts are now represented bim. 
without a daughter. How little could Scott “Very well, gentlemen,” coolly returned 
foresee the failure of male issue. > he, for he thought they were only trying to 
The poet of the “ Farie Queene” lost a child bring him down, 
when very young, by fire, when the rebels So they turned to leave, and as they bade 
burned his house in Ireland. him “ good-bye,” Mr. Tatnall turned pale.— 
Some of the poets had sons and no daugh- H e began to think they wore in earnest, 
tors. ( “ Stop, stop,” he cried, “ are you really in 
Thus we read of Chaucer’s son—Dryden’s earnest ? Aint you really going to put up 
son—-of the sons of Burns—of Allen Ram- the mills?” 
sey’s son—of Dr. Young’s son—of Campbell’s « Not here, sir.” 
son—of Moore’s son—and of Shelley’s son. . « Rat — but — don’t be in a hurry. Per- 
Ban Johnson survived all his children. haps we cau—come, come in. Lei’s talk the 
Some—and those among the greatest — matter over.” 
died unmarried. Butler, Cowley, Congreve, « There is no need,” answered Farnsworth, 
Otway, Prior, Gray, Thomson, Oowper, « f or we have made up our minds.” 
Akenside, Collins, Ca.y, Goldsmith. Mr. « R u t perhaps I might take up with your 
[jr nrucb-loved minstrels have their harps in tune. sey’s SOU —of Dr. Young’s SOU —of Campbell’S J 
hany, N. Y., 1S55. a. m. m. son — of Moore’s son — and of Shelley’s son. , 
-- Ban Johnson survived all his children. 
Written for Hoore’l Kuril New-Yorker. Some—fttld those aiUOng the greatest 
INDIAN QTTMMfTR died unmarried. Butler, Cowley, Congreve, 
!INDIA N bliA IMbilt, Otway, Prior, Gray, Thomson, Oowper, 
m ,, , , , , o, . ,. , Akenside, Collins, Gay, Goldsmith. Air. 
The soft, balmy days of Spring-time have ~ ra <w were unfor- 
Rogers still lives—siiigle. Some were unfor- 0 ff er 0 f two thousand.” 
passed away. Summer, with its beauty and tuuate in their sons, in a sadder way than 
loveliness is ended,—and now 
“ The melancholy days have come, 
The saddest of the year.” 
Yet it would seem from the pleasant seene on 
which I look, that Summer is reluctant to 
death could make them.— Athenaum. 
THE TWO HEIRS. 
“ No, sir.” 
“ But hold on a moment. I declare, rather 
than have the thing blow over now, I would 
come back to my old offer of seventeen hun¬ 
dred dollars.” 
“ No, sir. It is no use, for we don’t want 
whien I look, that Summer is reluctant to « j remember,” says a late Posmaster-Gen- ^ °> sir. It is no use, lor we aon i want 
give us its final parting, its last “good-bye,” cral of the United States, “the first time i your land.” _ 
and leave the earth to AVinter’s long, icy visited Burlington, Vt., as judge of the Su- “ Tmt the mtll priTilege ? ,, 
rpiru Indeed +h» brilliant sc^-serv but preme Court. I had left it many years be- Nor do we want that either. 
re ga. Indusd, the brilliant scenery, but v b At the time I left there “ But,” cried Tatnall m a frenzy of alarm, 
lately lit up by the magic touch of a master w£re t £ 0 fam ( li8s of spe , ia [ no te for their “ let the laud go and take the water privilege. 
Artist, and the pure air and bright sunshine standing and wealth. Each of them bad a and give me. what you like for it; only put 
of to-day, rival the most delightful periods of son about my own age. I was very poor, and up a .S°° ( jl there, even if you take it for 
the spriog or summer month, The little “orfu.r. too late, sir.” retoned Feme- 
brook, wandering- away through the valley £ng yam of ^ ^ worth, with a look and tone of contempt, 
leaps aud sparkles along its peboly bed, and T jJ had ,’ ono . forgotten me, “ Had you at first acted the part of a man 
sings as sweetly now as it did then. But we Approaching the Court House, for the first 7™ would not only have got a good round 
miss the music of the birds that cheered us time, in company with several gentlemen of price lor your water ^privilege and your lan 
i. pour forth their joyous songs at the sunset early boyhood with which I was surrounded your power, and you would over-reach us, but 
l hour. prompted me to ask whose it was. I was you will find in the end that this time, at least, 
A deep, dreamy haze veils every object, and told it belonged to Mr. J. ‘Mr. J. ? I re- you have overreached yourself, 
far in the dim distance both earth and sky member a family of that name, very wealthy; Johnlatna^lshrank away mo his house, 
, ., , . , „ tWp Tfiij a Rfm ton - os.n it beh 3 ?’ I was ana he had a bitter pul to swallow. 
HOME INFLUENCE. meet and blond m an unfathomable depth of Ke lt ke soiTof The two young men .returned to Simon 
- blue. The woodland glows in its gorgeous fomiiip, already alluded to He Winthrop’s house, and informed him they 
* uuhv drapery of crimson and gold, but like the had inherited more than I had earned, and should accept his offer. So papers were at 
Leaf and flowed and laden tee are preaching hectic flush on the cheek of the consumptive, spent it all; and now his own family was re- ones made out, and __ Messrs, u araswor h. 
Thine own sphere, though humble, first to flu. its very loveliness is but the emblem of decay, duced to real want, and his very furniture wa# Bidgely & AA inthrop commenced bunne S 3 
nm 11 J that dav tn hp Hold for debt in good earnest. Ihe sawmill was eom- 
Truly it has been said,that “our duties are Toe sott, ma.iow sun iga o. Autumn bathes - w J t jnto tke Court houge suddenly, yet nienced upon immediately, and at the same 
like the circles ot a whirlpool, and the inner- m beauty the landscape around me, that lies, a ] m8st g j ad tbat j wa9 born poor. I was time men were 3et at work cutting out the 
most includes home.” A modern writer has gtr8tc hed out, as it were, in slumber, in the S o 0n absorbed in the business before me.— canal. No le9S thaT1 men were tllu3 
designated home ‘‘ heaven s fallen sister; and f tbe blue-wreathed hills, that duBter One of the first cases called, originated in a employed, and the store was built at once.— 
a mfilanchoiy truth ues shrondsd in tiio^ few J™ ... part of these men took pav for 
woras. Our home influence is not a passing, e p , A Air II thnnrdit I that is a familiar their work m land, reserving only enough of 
but an abiding one ; and all-powerful lor good L he sun rises wnh a red, fiery glow, and ■ * O&u it be f In short 1 found that the timber on it lor their own building purpo- 
or evil, for peace or strife, for happiness or sends his long shafts of golden light, streaming this was indeed the son of the other wealthy ses, and by the next summer those of them 
misery. Each separate Christian home has through the smoky atmosphere. The mist- E15 " a referred to’ I was overwhelmed alike who had families moved them in. The grist- 
been likened to a central sun, around which wreath3 hanging around the hill-tops, soon with astonishment and thanksgiving—aston- mill was put up in due time, aud by the second 
revoives a happy.^ d uni ^ band o warm bs fere his broad, beaming gaze, ishment at the change in our relative stand- autumn quite a village of snug warm log.huts 
loving hearts, acting, thinking, rejoicing, and - ° m g8 , and thanksgiving that I was not born to Fad gone up After this, the colony flourished 
sorrowmg together. Which member of the Fro* early mo*auu evemn 0 snades come e it i y u 0 . * to ii » and grew. G reat numbers of hands were era- 
family group can say, I have, no influence?— on, the forest ectioes with the crack of the Those fathers provide bast for their chil- ployed during the winter in falling timber, 
What sorrow, or what happiness, lies in the hunter’s rifle. Slowly pass the quiet hours of dren wbo i eave - them with the highest eduev ?f TrTO: ’ ho 
power of each ! the afternoon, and the sun sinking ia the west 
“ A lighted lamp,” writes M’Cheyne, “ is a be hi n d a curtain of haze, seeni 3 half asleep 
very small thing, and.it burns calmly and loB „ before he reaches the horizon. By night, 
without noise, yet it giveth light to all who S ^ ;q floecy clouda , g dr03Se / 
are within the house. And so there is a And slowly wanders dowutiie west.” 
and when it was sawed it could be rafted and 
the afternoon, and the sun sinking ia the west tion, the purest morals and—the least money. rua ou sea by me high tides or spring and 
. v • t _I I fall. Those who came to cut lunlber, saw the 
nature of the soil when the snow was gone, 
and they took up lots for farms. 
At the end of eight years the wilderness was 
CURIOUS LOVE LETTERS. 
are wiuam tut; uuust. -o.uu ™ « *• And slow'v wanders down tbe west ” -.r ,, , ,, e , . .... 
quiet influence, which, like the flame of a , , i! t he field aud forest till Madame ;—Most worthy of my admira- changed into a village, aud Messrs. Farns- 
scented lanro fills many a home with light Her P ale . b2a f f V e TT aud l0rast tlh tion, after long consideration, and much med- worth , Ridgely & Winthrop were wealthy ane 
and fragrance. Such an influence has been the morning breaks again in the east, bo pass itatioa, of the great reputation, you possess respected. A flourishing village had growi 
beautifully compared to a “ carpet, soft and the days of Indian Summer — the closing in the nation, I have strong inclination, to up about them, all upon their own land—theii 
i-i , a e. — j _ hfipomfi vour relation. On vour annrobation. m <v.u 
and fragrance. Such an influence has been ltauon, ui uae great, t^umuuu, yyu. respected. A nourishing village had grown 
beautifully compared to a “ carpet, soft and the days of Indian Summer — the closing in the nation, 1 have strong inclination, to up about them, all upon their own land—their 
deep, which, while it diffuses a look of ample period of Nature’s existence. A few days become your relation. On your approbation, own thre3 mills were in full operation—their 
comfort, deadens many a creaking sound. *It more and AYinter’s fierce winds and flyin^ of the declaration, I shall make preparation, store did a good business, and their land was 
:i« tie curtain which, from many a beloved SBOW . flakel wU l be here. It see» strange , th « m immense profits. A school 
form wards off at once the summer’s glow “ . - XT , , , . , 6 tion, and it sucti ODiigation, is wormy oi od house had been pat up for three years, and 
and the winter’s wind. It is the pillow on that the face of Nature should wear such a serration, and can obtain commisseration, it that fall saw the finishing touch put upon a 
which sickness lays its head, and forgets half calm,, sunny smile, as though she kad not a!- will be an aggrandizition, beyond all calcula- handsome church. 
its misery.” This influence falls as the re- ready been touched by the cold hand of death, tion, of the joy and exultatiou of, And where was John Tatnall all this while? 
freshing dew, the invigorating sunbeams, the perhaps it is because she knows it is not lours, Sans Desideration. Ho still lived upon his farm, seven miles up 
fertilizing shower, shining on all with the dth but on]y a locg ^p, f rom which the f f owin - the re P 1 ^. : ... the "J er > aad , h f had ? I rown P 00r \ n {lesh ’ a1 ' 
mild lustre of moonlight, and harmonizing in ’ , . , a r a ■ •„ Sir—I perused your oration, with much most to a skeleton. His power of pinching 
one soft tint many of the discordant hues cf w arm sunshine and showers oi - bpriug will deliberation, and a little consternation, of the his neighbors was gone, for no one now was 
W11IV/11 IWT u awwj o —- - - 1 • I* 11 - 1 Ia. a* C -- 
its misery.” This influence falls as the re- ready been touched by the cold hand of death. < - lon > 0l me joy and exultatiou or, And where was John Tatnall all this while? 
freshing dew, the invigorating sunbeams, the perhaps it is because she knows it is not lours, Sans Desideration. Ho still lived upon his farm, seven miles up 
fertilizing shower, shining on all with the deatllbut only a i osg s ]eep, from which the J he f f owin - tbe re P^. : ... the "J er - aad 1 b f had ? I rown P 00r \ n {le3b ’. a1 ' 
mild lustre of moonlight, and harmonizing in ’ to- •„ Sir—I perused your oration, with much mo$t to a skeleton. His power of pinching 
one soft tint many of the discordant hues cf w arm snnsmnc and showers oi 1 Spring will deliberation, and a little consternation, of the his neighbors was gone, for no one now was 
a family picture. * awaken her. B. H. of Scipio. great infatuation, of your weak imagination, obliged to do business with him. He saw 
__ c*yugt County, N. Y., Oct., i9a». to show such veneration, on so slight a foun- that village grow up, and he saw poor, honest 
n --dation. I suppose your animation, was the Winthrop become wealthy and respected—and 
Love Among the , cbks.— a young man ...pTn npiyp np FRAYKITK fruit of recreation, or had sprung from osteu- he knew that all thi 3 might have been upon 
desperately in love with a gul a' Sianeho, - J ’ tation, to display your education, by an odd his own land, if he had been an honest and 
Sl^feted’ToDMeqaenL offilX Great and vride-Bpmd as ia the fame of ““'f 1or mulUplicMto, of honorable ma.o. 
sals were rejected, in consequence oi ms a is a p . . Philo 3 onher ” and m-ond il.n words of the same termination, though of But it was too lata now. lie could only 
SdSmsdf 8 MhrSVoUceinSantN V^ V \e of Philadelphia are of their illustrious g. reat TariatioD ’, f aacb r( fP ective si S aifi ca- look upon his owa wilderness, and then upon 
rfft. tSStowasman, we doubt much if one in a hundred the smiling tads of bn neighbor, and the 
Love Among the > crks. Y young man ttjp (VRATTF ilP PPA'MinTM 
desperately in love with a girl at Siancho, IMNKLIN. 
eagerly sought to marry her, but his propo- . . 
safs were rejected. In consequence of his dis- Gmit and wide-spread as is the farm 
appointment, he bought some poison and de- tje “ 1 rin ^ e j r ./ hiosopher, and proud as 
mi . .-n i • v _ p nf Phim/ifilnnift arp nr thPir i huti* , 
arrested the father of the young woman, as t ra ti 0n of Phili^filnhilna r ^ 0U3 application, to so tediou3an occupation, canker ate into his soul and made him miser- 
the cause, by implication, cl the young man s «!**, tnmh Thnnaunda deserves commendation, and thinking limita- able. In time the settlement extended up the 
saThWJSriT!-«w«‘ ****** 1 “• p» d «b.Ti.u 
became, therefore, amenable for this act of su¬ 
icide. When the case came before the magis¬ 
trate, it was urged literally, by the accusers, 
ashes, and those of his wife repose, without kes ^ation, 
being conscious of the fact, or, if aware of it, 
sitation, Yours, land begand to give place to houses, barns, 
Sally Moderation. and farms; but John Tatnall did not live to 
-- see it nor profit by it. IDs chagrin and envy 
Superstition.— One of the superstitions of had killed him ; and in the last hour oi the 
• ii. .1 . j» ji.ji._iLi.! _ _i.„ i .-.1 l:. __„ ...L aP 
that'if lie, the accused, had not a daughter, nnable to obtain a glimpse of the grave. The 
th* deceased would not have fallen in love, bones of the lighteing-taaner lie within a very 
the deceased wouid not have fallen in love, gbort distance of Arch street in the North^ France is that a fire kindled by lightning can- man who had all his lifetime made it a rule of 
consequently he would not have been disap- r of Cbriat Cburcb erave _ va rd at not be extinguished, and that he who attempts practice to over-reach all with whom he had 
pointed, and had died. Upon all these counts Arch street A^ is o-onerallv to extinguish it will die within the year. The any dealings, was himself over-reached by that 
he was mulcted to pay the price of the young * lttn aD . u Arc “ streei. as is generally_.unra incf nn nrl nP Pnrt.h Pft.fl rtrP- 
he was mulcted to pay the price of the young 
man’s life, which was fixed at eighty piastres, 
and was accordingly exacted. 
Perfumes are the feelings of flowers, and 
as the most powerful emotions move the hu- 
, . 4 • ii . .i'll.._ 
themselves wholly to their feelings, and 
breathe them out in sweet odors .—From the 
German of Heine. 
■*“*“ '' Anciently msn thought, and were like 
Real friends are like ghosts, that many marhle statues ; now they act, and are steam 
people talk of, but few ever see. engines. 
known, the spot is marked by a siab of mar ma y or of a country village has lately had to power against which no art of earth can pre- 
ble, which is almost level with the earth, and ar g ue with his constituents on the subject du- vail. _ _ 
which bears the simple inscription : ring the late conflagration of a, barn. He ~ h Trw 
. . , „ ,,, could only prevail upon tea men to assist him It has been said that tae Duke of vvellmg- 
Tf fLprnthis d S P ouring P ou water. The Insurance Com- ton never wrote a despatch in which the word 
lf t tl iilini w P q prp !L f i f n Si-.f pany interested made a present of five franc3 duty did not occur, and that Napoleon never 
marTheart[ when, in the etillnees of the night, “ T ™ p »bj wonld be atoded the grS t0 “'V » f ««? <«" r ° r having risen above the wrote a despatch in which the word glory 
it believes itself to be alone and unperceived; cati o^ P 0 f seeing the grave-a gratiifeation prejudices of ignorance and an inadequate not mentioned. Hus is the difference betwee 
so the flowers, soft-minded yet ashamed, ap- f^erv dSt to obUin gratibCatl ° n education.-Par. Letter. he two men and the two countries to winch 
pear to wait for concealing darkness to yield _oe’ouged. 
• Anciently men thought, and were like ------ 
Real friends are like ghosts, that many marhle statues ; now they act, and are steam If we can still love those who have made us 
people talk of, but few ever see. engines. suffer, we love them all the more. 
