ate admirer. No wonder then, that in the -present juncture of affairs, her lover felt rather uncomfortable. 91 her. ret?-pray be definite.' enjoying a perfect Paradise in the hospitable || with Durand and her brothers. Once they mansion of Judge Mansfield, whose acquain- had gone to Boston; another time they had tance you and I had the good fortune to rode out with the intention of ascending The honored guest pleaded fatigue and make last winter at Washington. I assure Wachussett. He was never asked to be of retired early. The rest of the party, except you I consider myself the most fortunate their party. Still Julia would occasionally James and Julia, soon followed his example. fellow in the world, in getting acquainted express undiminished regard for him in The lovers were left alone and each, from with this grave old New Englander; other- looks and actions, if not in words; and he some cause or other, which it is not neces-wise I might, perhaps, never have beheld the would not believe her false. sary to ascertain, felt more awkwardly than most beautiful object in the world—I mean they had been wont to feel on similar occasions. my friend's daughter. All my wildest dreams Beauchamp walked to the window, gazed of beauty, the bright visions of boyhood, some time at the stars, and I suppose, (for which have been for years almost forgotten, he appeared to be gazing at something,) made are fully realized in this northern deity. some trifling and unanswered remarks on And then she is not the cold hearted, dull, the brilliancy of the evening, and then care-lifeless thing, that northern beauties at Washlessly (he must, it should appear so,) cross-ington have always appeared to me. There ed over to the opposite side of the room, is a warmth, an exuberance of feeling, about where Julia was seated on a velvet cushioned her. Mansfield ought to have taken her to sofa, and placed himself by her side. She Washington. I am glad, however, he has put back the crimson curtains, and they were never done so. I will introduce her there bathed in a rich flood of moonlight. The next winter as Mrs. Durand. True she has coals were glowing on the hearth, the chairs a lover, a young law student, a good fellow stood in the places where they had lately been enough, but not worthy of Julia. She shall occupied, books lay in confusion on the table, never be his, Wand several newspapers were scattered about the carpet. Silence seemed to reign as the presiding deity of the room. Julia took up a book. Her lover gazed at the decaying fire. 'Pray,' said Beauchamp, after there had been an awful pause, pray, Miss Mansfield, what is this book you are so deeply interest Oh! the poems of Durand.' 'And are you as partial to their author, as to his works?' Oh, very well indeed. He is a man of first rate talents, and noble looking, certainly; but I really wonder how he could ever write such foolish poems.' Julia laughed. She and James had enjoyed many an animated dispute about these quering Mr. Durand, to be sure,-orator, 'O you know as well as I do-the all-constatesman, and poet. Do you know, James, that Julia often wishes you could write poetry? Now, if you would try, I am sure you could write better poetry than this overbearing southerner.' bitter smile, and immediately left the house. 'I shall not try, 'Margaret,' he said, with a I am resolved. He He wandered along through the orchard was here, quite one of the family circle, the towards the little valley already mentioned, evening I arrived. I guessed (you see I am till arrested by the sound of Julia's voice, getting quite Yankeefied,) at once he was singing with its most enchanting softness the lover of that glorious creature, who had one of his favorite songs, one she had a thouat first sight almost bewildered me, and I sand times sung to him. treated him accordingly. I was determined on the very spot where one year before they He saw her sitting he should not shine in conversation, and I had, for the first time, exchanged vows of succeeded in making him appear insignifi-love and truth. Durand was by her sidecant, at least he writhed in total silence, and her hand was pressed to his lips. With a madno one suspected me. You, W. -, un-dened soul Beauchamp turned abruptly away. derstand these matters. He has called once 'More so, Beauchamp. How do you like since, and, to my infinite satisfaction, went him?' away with a clouded brow. It is a good deal galling to the youth's feelings that I can spend my whole time with Julia, while he only sees her occasionally. (I ought to have told you that I had accepted an invitation to spend several weeks in my friend's family.) I saw this invitation gave the poor baffled fellow a good deal of uneasiness. Write I will be candid, though, Julia,' said Beau-me directly—but do not trouble me with pochamp, after a short pause, I told you I litical affairs. Be sure to say nothing about liked this haughty South Carolinian, but I really do not. There is something about him I absolutely hate.' poems. Julia laughed again, then looked a little displeased, but made no reply. And after another long pause, and a little conversation on indifferent subjects, the lovers parted, neither of them so happy as they had been at sunset. Three days after, Durand wrote the following letter: Το 'Well, my dear fellow, I have been traveling, in the middle of March, for amusement, in the inhospitable climate of New England. The roads quite frightful-mud and snow a foot deep. But I am now safe from the horrors of the road and climate, and what is still more consoling, from political storms; the 'Mr. W question. Yours, EGBERT DUrand. CHAPTER III. "Tis over! I have flung thee offWith cureless heart and bitter scoffThou smiled, and seemed in unusual spirits, but a The same evening he met Julia. She few unpleasant remarks from him soon altered her capricious gaiety. back parlor, their favorite room-Beauchamp They sat together by the window of a little and his affianced bride. There had been a long, long, painful silence. A cloud was on Beauchamp's brow, and Julia's face was fitfully shaded by contending emotions. The lovely scenery that lay in delicious and calm beauty before them, was not quite unheeded, nor was it the engrossing subject of their thoughts. The tall willows, beneath whose drooping branches had been their once-accustomed seat-the luxuriant and full-blooming rose-bush, which they together had thought to shade the window, and from which a sweet perfume was now stealing through Nearly three months have passed after the the room-in the distance, Wachussett reardate of our last chapter. Beauchamp stilling its blue summit to the azure sky-all continued his visits at Mansfield's though these, and many other familiar objects, rethey were no longer the blissful meetings called memories not in unison with their they had been. Julia, upon one pretence or present feelings. another, had insisted upon deferring their marriage, and she no longer treated him with that uniform respect she used to do; indeed he thought she had often wantonly trifled with his feelings. Often, when he called, she was engaged on some excursion of pleasure|| stroy it?' who didst dare-fool that thou wert, To trifle with a bursting heart!' Beauchamp had plucked a full-blooming rose, and sat unconsciously scattering its beautiful leaves upon the floor. What has that poor rose done,' said Julia, trying to laugh, that you thus wantonly de He looked up for an instant, with a voluminous expression on his dark, brilliant eyes, which made Julia bend her gaze again upon the floor, dispelled her borrowed smile, and blanched her cheek; but he replied not in words. We return, gentle reader, to the elegant little apartment where we left our exemplary lovers assorbed in silent, but not very pleasant reflection. This trifling-this finished coquetry, said Beauchamp, at last, is no longer to be Durand, at this time, was in his own chain- submitted to. Your conduct towards this ber, writing the following letter: over the moon? How vivid the scene is int my recollection? The old elm tree before us, with its bending branches-to the left that green meadow, where we used to gather wild strawberries, and the blue stream, with its capricious wanderings-how lovely it looked by moonlight-and a thousand other familiar objects: I need not describe them-and our parents seated within the cottage. Lucy, we are orphans now! Oh how does this cold truth strike home upon the heart !— There is no paternal home for us to visit. How often, in the course of the last ten years, my heart has bled, when I have heard my companions, my fellow-students, talk of He paused; and Julia exclaimed in a going home.' Home!-Oh what a world of trembling voicedelightful associations is comprised in that one word! and they are lost to us! Durand, this proud slave-holder, has been, 6 'Well, we will not despair, though we do know something of the vicissitudes of life, the humiliations of poverty, the coldness, the injustice of mankind: though we feel in its bitterness the orphan's lonely doom. We have blessings, many blessings-youth, health. unsullied reputation, and sincere affection for each other; and with these materials for happiness, it is foolish to repine. I am still pursuing my studies. They have, of late, met with some interruption, but I shall now return to them with redoub ‹ WELL, W—, three months have passed since the date of my last letter, and I am still at Mansfield's. I have not been here the whole time, however, but have made excursions in all parts of New England. In some of these, I have been accompanied by Julia. Her brothers and sister, I ought in justice to say, were with her; but these are mere cyphers in my estimation. It was during one of these delightful excursions that I first dared to This is a painful subject, James; I breathe to Julia love's impassioned language. would end it at once. I can never be your 'We stood on the green borders of James' wife. I know my hand is pledged-I know river the bright young leaves of spring were all the foolish things I have said: but, James, dancing in the moonshine-the soft air was you will not, cannot receive this hand, delicious with the fragrance of surrounding though offered, when I tell you my heart is orchards; a gentle breeze was showering another's!' around us the fallen blossoms of the apple. 'It is enough! I understand you-enjoy Her hand was in mine: the party had stray-your triumph. But remember, the heart and ed to some distance; we were silent-all hand of a coquette are alike valueless to me!' was silent around, except the whippowil, And with a cold good night, a haughty step, and the gentle murmuring stream. I press and a burning cheek, he left the house. ed her hand to my heart, and—but you can There was indeed a cloud on his brow, guess what I said. I was never more elo-and a long enduring blight on his deep affec-led ardor. I will yet, Lucy, stand among quent. But then she withdrew her hand, tions. He loitered to his boarding house, which actually vibrated with agitation, and entered his chamber, locked the door, threw said she must not listen to such language-open the window, sat down, and, leaning his .she was engaged to Beauchamp. A damper-head upon his hand, remained thus motionbut I was not discouraged. I pleaded my less for hours. We need not trace the curown cause more earnestly than lawyer ever rent of his thoughts, but they were sufficient pleaded for his client; and she did listen, ly bitter. though she had said she must not.-But it was not till a few days ago, when we were again left together on the top of Wachussett, that she told me, with all the fond, confiding frankness of her nature, that she loved me-employment of teaching a public school. that her love for Beauchamp had never been more than a dream. Ecstatic, divine moment! It was not moonlight: the bright rays of a glorious sun showed to advantage the deepening red of her velvet cheek, and allowed me to drink the rich expression of those unrivaled eyes. If Beauchamp could then have seen and heard us, I would not have answered for the consequences. He is a spirited and fiery youth, though raised beneath the cold skies of New England. The air of midnight had cooled the fever of his brain, ere he penned a letter to his sister, a loved and lovely girl, who was now training her soul to patience in the arduous 6 BEAUCHAMP TO HIS SISTER. • DEAR LUCY—I thank you much for your long, kind, and interesting letter. A long time has elapsed since I received it. I have no good excuse to plead in extenuation of this neglect, and can only ask you to forgive me. I have indeed lately been a negligent correspondent, but I will not be so in future. I am now fully alive to your tenderness; fully realize the value of that priceless gem a sister's love. I have just been reading over your letter; and, deadened as the feelings of youth are, by intercourse with a heartless world, I have wept long and violently over the memories it recalled. The allusions you make to the home of our childhood, our first, and indeed our only home, have touched a chord in my bosom which will never cease to vibrate. Do you remember, Lucy, how we used to sit on the steps of our cottage-door, and watch the clouds pass the proudest of our land. I will occupy a station to which those, who now look down with scorn ou me, shall not dare aspire. One part of your letter I have not yet noticed; under existing circumstances, I ought, perhaps, to do so. You asked me to present your love to Miss Mansfield: this I have complied with. You say that you anticipate the pleasure of soon calling her sister Julia. I am candid when I tell you, she will never be my wife. I have had a dream of life-but am now awake, and laughing at my folly. I did love indeed a creature of my own imagination, and I fancied Julia Mansfield was that being; but she has proved herself unworthy a man of spirit, and I shall forget she was ever more to me than a common acquaintance. Yet I would not do the young lady injustice. Do not imagine she has been guilty of any heinous crime; she has only jilted me-but I hate a coquette. You may have all that fund of affection which was hers, it will not double your former share though. Fame is now my mistress, and I shall woo her with no divided attention. Write ine, dear sister, often, familiarly, and confidentially. In whom can you place confidence, if not in your only brother? You can hardly think how tremblingly anxious I am for your welfare. Believe me, your sincerely affectionate brother, JAMES BEAUCHAMP. Miss Lucy Beauchamp.' 1 CHAPTER IV. 'And The world was proud of her.' brown, rather too light, perhaps, but rich, glossy and profuse, and it parted with native grace above a pure, high forehead. Her eyes, The grove of weeping willows, in front of when in a state of perfect repose, were a soft, Mansfield's house, had assumed a yellow, liquid blue; but their brilli mey and their exautumnal hue; the roses bad long been fa-pression was changeable as a summer's cloud. ded, but a host of more hardy flowers still bloomed in summer luxuriance. Within the splendid manson, gaiety and happiness still presided. Her cheeks were a velvet red, much deeper BIOGRAPHY. James Fenimore Cooper, For him there's a story in every breeze, And a picture in every wave.'-MOORE. JAMER FENIMORE COOPER was born at Bordentown, in the state of New Jersey, September 15th, 1789. His family is one of the most ancient in our country, and can be traced back distinctly to the early part of the 17th century. By the maternal side his American pedigree is equally ancient, springing from a Swedish stock, which dates from the first settlement of Delaware. A very large estate is still owned, and has been occupied by the family, in New Jersey, ever since that state was settled. It was evening. A large and brilliant circle of youth and beauty had assembled there. After spending several weeks at the south, Young cheeks were blushing with unusual constantly in company, constantly admired color, and dark eyes had borrowed deeper and flattered, the young and, perhaps, happy brilliancy. It was Julia's wedding night.wife, went with her husband to Washington. She stood there, in all her young, proud beau- In the first circles of fashion and beauty there, ty, about to breathe vows, irrevocable, by she alone stood unrivaled. And Durand, aught save death. Her delicate snowy hand at that time, was even prouder of his wife's These facts, although of little consequence was closed in Durand's; her brow was beauty, than of his own eloquence. in a country where every individual is the slightly pale. Margaret stood by her side; father true fortunæ,' the founder of his own and by the side of Durand was James Beau family-are alluded to in this place to refute champ. His friendship with the Mansfields the assertions made in several foreign magahad been uninterrupted, and ne had now so far zines by writers, who, in their zeal for moconquered his feelings, as to act a conspicunopolizing all excellence, have claimed Mr.. ous part on this occasion without any visible Cooper as an Englishman. We have reason emotion, except a little superfluous red on James still continued to visit there, and he to believe that the subject of this sketch is his cheeks. And he stood there, and heard felt the change more bitterly than he was wil-proud of his old American blood less from Julia Mansfield-the long-worshipped idol of ling to admit. But his term of study was personal considerations than from those arhis heart-vow to love, unchangeably and for- nearly closed, and the time was fast ap-dent feelings of nationality which form so ever, his detested rival. He saw her cheekproaching when he had determined to leave prominent a feature in his character. We turn pale, as those vows were ratified; perhaps she thought of other vows, scarcely less sacred-now all, all broken. The sun was rising gloriously the next morning, as the proud husband handed his pale and weeping bride into the carriage, which rapidly conveyed her from her own pleasant and much-loved home. She had said adieu to her parents and brothers, &c. but looked a silent farewell to a thousand familiar and loved objects. James had pressed that hand, which no longer trembled at his touch, and heard a cold farewell from those lips which had once breathed to him the burning words of love. Margaret went with her sister to spend the winter. They arrived in South Carolina. Julia was made the mistress of a magnificent house, a delicious plantation, and several hundred slaves. But we return to Beauchamp and the Mansfields. After the departure of Durand and his party, mirth and happiness seemed entirely to have forsaken that mansion where they had long held undisputed reign; and loneliness had usurped their dominion. the peaceful village of S―, and go forth are old fashioned enough to like him the better for it; and we cannot comprehend why the same glowing devotion to one's own country, which is admired in Scott, Beranger, or Moore, should not be appreciated It was December, a cold, snowy evening-in the writings of Cooper. It is no small Beauchamp and his sister were sitting togeth-evidence that we are not yet entirely disener, in an humble apartment of Lucy's board-thralled from our mental dependance upon ing-house. The orphan girl's young bosom Europe, when we can applaud the narrow was swelling with uncontrolable anguish, and selfishness of a Scotch freebooter, or an Irish tears, in spite of all her efforts, were stealing rapparee, and yet hesitate, dislike' when a from her weeping eyes, and profusely bath-manly and rational love of country is inculcaing her pale cheeks. She had exhausted all ted by one of our distinguished citizens. her eloquence, all her persuasions, all her entreaties, to induce her too reckless brother not to go to New Orleans. A single irrepressible tear fell from his eyes, on Lucy's forehead, as he printed one Mrs. Durand's style of beauty attracted long kiss, and with a wild pressure of the great attention at the south. This her husband, whispered, Farewell!' band had anticipated; and it had been an all- Beauchamp, full of ardent hopes and wild important item among the articles which had imaginations, pursued his journey to the made up his store of love. His anticipations devoted city,' and Lucy went quietly again more than realized. The northern to her little school, and hoarded all her anbeauty was admired by all, talked of by all guish in her own lonely bosom. Indeed, she was beautiful, very beautiful; and the remarkable clearness of her complexion contrasted well with the dark bue of southern were beauties. Her form was rather tall; her long, white neck and drooping shoulders claimed admiration; her hair was a light [To be Continued.] He who is always in want of something, cannot be very rich. 'Tis a poor wight who lives in borrowing the words, decisions, mien, invention, and actions, of others. The early education. of Young Cooper commenced at Bordentown, but upon the removal of his father, Judge Cooper, to Cooperstown, in the State of New-York, where he had purchased a large estate, the subject of our memoir was placed, in the year 1799, under the care of the Rev. Mr. Ellison, Rector of St. Peter's Church, Albany. After a residence of some years in one of our Colleges, he was permitted to enter the navy, for which he had shewn an early predilection. During a service of several years on the lakes and the ocean, he gave brilliant promise of future excellence by his activity, gallantry, and unremitted attention to the duties of his arduous profession. This would have been speedily followed by promotion, but he relinquished it for other and more pleasing engagements. He married, and for several years gave himself up to all the luxurious ease of a country gentleman. During this period, he appears to have ac- had been complimented with the title off with faint applause' by some, while others cumulated those rich stores of intellectual American consul at Lyons-an empty honor, have reproached him with having 'flouted his wealth which were afterwards to be poured which our author seems to have estimated Americanism throughout Europe.' All, howforth to gratify and delight his countrymen. at its just value, for we believe that he never ever, have not taken this view of the subject. It is certain, at least, that to his residence at visited the scene of his official functions. It will stand an everlasting stigma upon Cooperstown we can trace the origin of those During this period, the pen of Mr. Cooper the reputation of one of the master spirits beautiful delineation of frontier manners and has been frequently exercised, and although of the age, upon Goethe, the father-we haď scenery which characterized the Pioneers,' it has been made a subject of reproach, that almost said the founder of German literawhile the singularly bold and striking inci-in his late writings he has introduced politi- || ture, that in all his voluminous and multifadents of the ' Spy' may be safely attributedcal allusions into professed works of imagin-||rious writings, not a line can be found calcuto the legends and traditions of his neighbors ation, yet the charge comes with an ill grace lated to awaken the dormant patriotism of during his residence on the Neutral Ground.' from his countrymen. his countrymen, to arouse them to a sense It is not known at what period his thoughts During the residence of Mr. Cooper in of their duties as citizens or of their rights were turned towards embodying, in a work Paris, the eventful revolution of July took as freemen. Far different is the case with of imagination, his views of society, charac-place, and stirred up all the parties and fac- our esteemed author, who, during his resiter, and manners, although we are aware tions which had been torpid under the leaden dence abroad, has effected more in defence that many essays, distinguished alike for scepters of Louis and Charles.-The strug- of our political institutions, more vindication vigor of thought and manly expression, which gle between the absolutists, republicans, and of our national character from the open and appeared in the Literary and Philosophical constitutionalists, being exceedingly severe; covert attacks of foreign libellers, than any or Repository for 1822–3, were generally attrib- and our author found himself suddenly placed all of the American writers who have selecuted to the pen of Mr. Cooper. in a position from which one of a less ardent ted Europe as their residence. Apparently acquainted with the prevailing disposition would have shrunk. One of the tastes of his countrymen, he made his first weapons wielded by the French republican formal essay ́ as a novelist, under a foreign party, was the comparative cheapness of that disguise. Precaution' was given to the form of government; and to a nation like world. The scene was laid in England, and France, which had suffered so much from it contained a due proportion of noble lords the lavish prodigality of its kings, it was a and titled dames to render it palatable to his powerful argument. It is, we believe, generreaders. As an English novel, it was at first ally conceded, that our own Lafayette, favorably received, but as it contained no although a republican himself, saw with his fashionable slang, misplaced sentimentality, characteristic sagacity, the entire unfitness of incoherent rhapsodies, nor libels upon dis-such a form of government to modern France, tinguished characters, having been noticed in and was rather considered as the leader no English review, and worse than all, the of the constitutional party. However this secrets of its authorship having transpired; may be, the discussion assumed an animated it narrowly escaped oblivion, when his subse-character, the expenses of our own instituquent works, the Spy,' Pilot,' Pioneers,' &c. which appeared in rapid succession. placed our author in high favor with the public. In a biographical sketch of a living writer, propriety appears to indicate that a critical analysis of his writings would be totally misplaced. This more properly belongs to the province of the reviewer, but we may be permitted to allude to a few particulars in which he is confessedly without a rival. His ocean pictures and delineations of the nautical character in all its phases, from the thoughtless tar before the mast, to the grave and dignified commander, tions were critically canvassed, and it was roundly asserted by the absolutists, that the people of these United States paid more direct taxes, for the support of government than the French. This roused the honest patriot, Lafayette, who, in the absence of a sufficient statistical information, applied to Mr. Cooper to furnish him with such data as would drive the libellers from their false position. With this request he cheerfully complied-and shame light upon the American who in such a cause would have acted otherwise. It would be foreign to these pages to pursue the history of this discussion farther than to observe, that in doing this, Mr. Cooper appears to have acted under a stern sense of duty to his native land, regardless of personal considerations-regardless of its effect upon his European popularity, and, as we learn from one of his published letters, at no inconsiderable pecuniary sacrifice. For such services he looked for no reward beyond the consciousness of having defended the institutions of his beloved country, and For several years past, Mr. Cooper has doubtless he anticipated the hearty approval resided in various parts of Europe, with the of his countrymen. In this latter particular, view of giving to his numerous family the ad- we regret to add that our author has been vantages of a highly finished education. He disappointed. He has been cooly damned Who treads the monarch of the peopled deck,' are acknowledged to be as far superior to the sketches of Smollet, as Smollet himself stands before the Halls and Marryatts of the present day. Nor has he been less successful in delineating the rainbow glories' of our forest scenery, and in depicting the moody, taciturn, and sententious red man of the forest. We conclude, with transferring to our pages the following tribute from one of our highly gifted bards: Cooper, whose name is with his country's woven, A wanderer now in other climes has proven MISCELLANY. Autumn. MAGNIFICENT is the Autumn of our fatherland! By what a subtle alchemy the green leaves are transmuted into gold, as if molten by the fiery blaze of the hot sun! A magic covering spreads over the whole forest, and brightens into more gorgeous hues. The tree-tops seem bathed with the gold and crimson of an Italian sunset. Here and there a shade of green-here and there a tinge of purple-and a stain of scarlet so deep and rich, that the most cunning artifice of man is pale beside it. A thousand delicate shades melt into each other. They blend fantastically into one deep mass. They spread over the forest, like a tapestry woven with a thousand hues. Magnificent Autumn! He comes nor like a pilgrim, clad in russet weeds. He comes not like a hermit, clad in gray. But he comes like a warrior, with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. His crimson scarf is rent. His scarlet banner drips with gore. His step is like a flail upon the threshing floor. The scene changes. It is the Indian Summer. The rising sun blazes through the misty air, like a conflagration. A yellowish, smoky haze, fills the atmosphere; and 'a filmy mist, Lies like a silver lining on the sky.' The wind is soft and low. It wafts to us the odor of forest leaves, that hang wilted on the dripping branches, or drop into the stream. Their gorgeous tints are gone, as if the autumnal rains had washed them out. Orange yellow and scarlet-all are changed to one melancholy russet hue. The birds, too, have taken wing, and have left their roofless dwellings. Not the whistle of a robin-not the twitter of an eaves-dropping swallow-not the carol of one sweet, familiar voice! All gone. Only the dismal cawing of a crow, as he sits and curses, that the harvest is over-or the chit-chat of an idle squirrel-the noisy denizen of a hollow tree-the mendicant, friar of a large parish—the absolute monarch of a dozen acorns! Another change. The wind sweeps through the forest, with a sound like the blast of a trumpet. The dry leaves whirl in eddies through the air. A fret-work of hoar-frost covers the plain. The stagnant water in the pools and ditches is frozen into fantastic figures. Nature ceases from her labors, and prepares for the great change. In the low-hanging clouds, the sharp air, like a busy shuttle, weaves her shroud of snow. There is a melancholy and continual roar in the tops of the tall pines, like the roar of a cataract. It is the funeral anthem of the dying year. Fashions for November. To be clothed with HUMILITY,' and have the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.' workmanship, that it has been mistaken, by || religious people; we've got vour on em al- Awful Distress. A CORRESPONDENT relates the following cir- times. About a week ago, he, at the request Applications commenced the day after the Every body should study to moderate his desires, and to be temperate in his pleasures. Then, and only then, can he enjoy this life. Those who live in a state of constant excite ment are not happy. The mind soon be comes fevered and unsatisfied, and rests not a moment contented unless higher excitements are found. The The Rural Repository. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 1837. THE EVENING VISITER.-This is the title of a new periodical devoted to sience and literature, published at Zanesville, Ohio, by Mrs. P. W. Ball. The numbers we have received are enriched by several very interesting articles from the pen of Mrs. Ball, who appears to be fully competent to the task she has undertaken-may her laudable endeavors be crowned with complete success. The Visiter is published every Wednesday, at $2 per annum. CREDIT TO WHOM CREDIT IS DUE.-The little story, published in our tenth number, entitled The Test of Benevolence,' should have been credited to the 'Saturday Courier,' instead of the Providence Morning Courier.' It was copied from an exchange paper, therefore the mistake did not originate with us. Letters Containing Remittances, the amount of Postage paid. The answer was six dollars a month. seven; and she walked off. The next made I'll not work for any body for less than no objection to the pay, but inquired how many there were in the family. Being informed, she said it was too mighty a concern for her to manage, folded her arms and bade the lady of the house good morrow. The third refused the place because there was no carpet on the kitchen floor. The fourth because she could not be allowed to go to mass every Sunday morning, while the mistress prepared the breakfast, and be allowed two afternoons for recreation. The fifth on account of the unwillingness of her employer to allow the nightly visit of her dear cousin St. Patrick Shelaly. The seventh could not THIS is the most graceful, becoming, and, wash-she did not like the looks of par-boiled at the same time, novel costume that has hands. The eighth made pretty fair promises ever solicited patronage. The mantle is of to do all the prescribed requisites but the Received at this Office, ending Wednesday last, deducting the most exquisite hue snd delicate texture; last. If you wish your front steps scoured tastefully decorated with the above mentioned so often as that, you may do that yourself.' costly brilliants; and will be found to unite every advantage of utility and elegance. The dress is suitable to all seasons, and is THEY tell of Bishop Porteous, that he had considered equally becoming to the young an utter aversion to long names, fine names, and the old. It possesses extraordinary dura- and more than one name. That, being called bility; is less liable to take a soil than any upon, when a parish priest, to christen a poor other material, and retains its freshness and man's child, Thomas Timothy, he dipped novelty to the last. It falls over the person his finger hastily into the basin, cut the matin the most graceful folds; and is so ad-ter and the names short, and christened the justed as to veil every blemish, and set off child Tom Tit.' A mason's wife, and bethe least favorable figure to the best possible longing to the next parish, presented her advantage. The color usually preferred for urchin. What took place is exactly as folthis costume is invisible green which casts lows; Say the name,' said I, with my finger the most delicate shade upon the whole form, in the water. 'Acts, sir,' said she. Acts,' and produces an effect indescribably agreea- said I, what do you mean? Thinks I to ble and prepossessing. Nothing can be more myself, I will at the clerk to spell it. He tastefully imagined, than the ornament with did, ACTS-so Acts was the babe, and will be which this mantle is finished; and although while in this life, and will be doubly, trebly, this jewel is pronounced by the best judges so registered, if ever it marries or dies. Afterto be of immense value, it may be obtained wards, in the vestry, I asked the good Sarah A. Loomis, aged 3 months and 8 days. upon very reasonable terms. It is so delicate woman what made her choose such a name. in its huc, and so chaste and simple in its Her answer, verbatim; Why, sir, we be · Christenings. H.L. T. Washington, N. Y. $1,00; A. P. B. Nantucket, Ms. $1,00; E. H. Sullivan, N. Y. $1,00; W. C. Salem, Mich. $10,00; G. H. U. New Paltz Landing, N. Y. $00,75; W. V. M. Brookfield, Ms. $1,00; B. F. V. Kingston, N. Y. $1,00; W. A. B. Sumner's Valley, N. Y. $1,00; C. W. Darien, N. Y. $1,00; L. B. Lee, Ms. $1,00; J. C. Dracut, Ms. $3,00; W. M. O. Moscow, N. Y. $2,00; I. P. Claverack, N. Y. $1,00; P. M. Ira, N. Y. $5,00; E. C. Niles, Mich. $1,00. In this city, on the 26th ult. Rachel Van Hoesen, in her 67th year. On the 29th ult. John, son of George and Martha Baily, aged 19 months. On the 11th inst. Mary Ann Spencer, in her 80th year. On the 18th inst. Ruth Shaver, in her 47th year. This lovely bud, so young and fair, Just came to show how sweet a flower, |