Frank Hargrave, the eldest son, was what the world cal's a finished gentleman. He dressed his perfect figure with genuine taste, rode and danced to perfection, was fond of hunting, could shuffle cards, smoke a good cigar, and drink champagne. He also conversed with easy, gentlemanlike flucncy. He at first gazed with a feeling of only surprise, upon the graceful, beautiful chambermaid; but as he viewed her movements, and listened to her musical voice, his proud heart, in spite of him-able, had relaxed somewhat, and given her permisself, became interested in her, and he resolved on sion to go where she liked at the completion of her establishing, in some way or other, a secret corres-day's work, provided she would be in her place at pondence. That her heart was pure as the lily, hea seasonable hour in the morning. doubted not; "but," said he, " in her maiden art. lessness, she will believe all the absurdities I may choose to whisper in her ear. In the first place, I must make her love me-no very difficult task, as far as my experience goes-then I must very melt. ingly confess myself to her, then talk of the lamented pride of my family, and she will necessarily see the importance of not betraying our secret by look, word or act. Should I see fit to make prom. ises, I can break them at my convenience, for poor girl—she has no one to complain to. At all events I can arrange matters, and the harmless ruse will serve to dispel the blues, and in her society I can while away not a few tedious hours."

the manner in which she gave offence, improved will be quite too humbling, and leave she must.in the town with a bundle of manuscripts in his not in this respect, but struggled bravely on, hush-But the old lady likes her too well-Arabella, ay, hand; but his reception was, apparently, not very ed the voice of wounded pride, forced back the a plain imp, she hates her for her beauty; none to favorable, for he left them all with a frowning air, unbidden tear, and firmly resolved to remain where blame, either. She will lend ready aid in forming and still with his bundle of manuscripts. Some she was, till something better should present. a pretext for dispensing with her services." had detained him a long time, as if estimating the The following day, Mary read her triumph in value of the goods he offered for sale; but these the fact, that instead of being crossed by Frank, as were no more tempted than the others to try the usual, at every turn, he strictly avoided her, and saleable character of the commodity. The house they met but once, and then he did not venture a he lodged in had attached to it a large garden. look. Relieved of her anxieties, she settled into By permission of the landlord, the young man often the gentle, quiet girl she really was, and pursued selected it for his evening walks, and despite the her humble duties with ready hand and unshrinking cold, would sometimes sit and muse in a rude and heart. She had no wish to leave at present, as, af- faded bower under a wall at one of the gadles. ter a time, her mistress, finding her services invalu-flere he would occasionally even sing, in a low tone, some of his own compositions. It happened once or twice that when he did so, a female head protruded from a window above him, seeming to listen. The young man at length noticed this. “Pardon, lady,” said he, one evening, “perhaps I disturb you?"

But he did not find it so easy a matter as he had imagined. From the first, Mary had conceived a great dislike for him, and therefore studiously avoided him, repelling all his advances. Notwithstanding "her artlessness," many a deep-laid stratagein was wrecked by her caution. At last, in spite of her vigilance, she found herself alone in his preFor a time, he conversed in a gentlemanlike, respectful manner, she replying—when reply was necessary-politely, but coldly. At length he ventured to bestow a word of delicate flattery.

sence.

She had succeeded in engaging work from the shop of an outfitter. The compensation was, as usual, trifling, but, aided by her mother, she man. aged, with the strictest economy, to keep above actual suffering. Her evenings were spent at home in the society of those she loved, and though the midnight hour often found her wearily plying her needle, she was comparatively happy.

Roswell Hargrave, the youngest son, had been travelling with an uncle for the last twelvemonth, and was now hourly expected. Things were going on so smoothly with Mary, that she dreaded his return, fearing, that like Frank, he might prove a disturber of her peace.

[Concluded in our next.}

THE SONG OF THE SINGER. It was during the early days of the great Revolution of 1789, in the year 1702, when a young officer in delicate health took up his quarters in the city of Marseilles for the six months of his leave of absent. It seemed strange retirement for a young man, for in the town he knew no one, and in the depth of winter Marseilles was no tempting residence. The officer lived in a garret looking out upon the street, which had for its sole furniture “Cold, unkind girl!" exclaimed he, seizing her a harpsicord, a bed, a table and a chair. Little but hand.

Immediately, with quiet dignity, she rose to leave the room.

occupation he alternated with music.

paper ever entered that apartment where food and The hand was proudly withdrawn, and fixing fuel both were scarce; and yet the young man her full beautiful eyes upon him, with a searching generally remained in-doors all day, assiduously gaze, before which his own fell, with almost queen-writing or rather dotting something upon paper, an like dignity, she replied, "Mr. Hargrave, think not that I am ignorant of your designs. I have Thus passed many months. The young man watched your movements, and understand it all. grew thinner paler, and his leave of absence seemed Though poor, I am neither ignorant nor weak; likely to bring no convalescence. But he was and you might as well believe it now, as in the fu.handsome and interesting, despite his sallow hue. ture, that for you to impose on my credulity, is impossible. As you wish amusement, seek it at the expense of one more feeble and credulous than Mary Linton." She proudly walked away. "Twas the majestic pride of conscious superior. ity!

Rivetted to the spot stood the haughty Frank Hargrave, the proud man of fashion, feeling, for the first time, his own littleness. He bit his lips, a flash of indignation flitted across his face, and he exclaimed, “Awed, outwitted by a woman, and that woman a contemptible servant! Who would have thought it, from her look, her tone, her splendid manners? By Jupiter! that majestic attitude would have graced the stage-a very Fanny Kem. ble! But the game is up. Her presence hereafter

Long hair, full beaming eyes genius, frankness of
manner, prepossessed all in his favor, and many a
smile and look of kindness came to him from beau-
tiful eyes that he noticed not nor cared to notice.
In fact, he rarely went out but at night, and then
to walk down by the booming sea, which made a
kind of music he seemed to love. Sometimes it is
true he would hang about the theatre door when
Operas were about to be played, and look with
longing eye within; but he never entered, either
his purse or his inclination failed him. But he
always examined with care the name of the piece
and its author, and then walked away to the sea.
shore, to muse and meditate.

Shortly after his arrival in Marscilles, he visited,
one after another, all the music-sellers and publishers

"Not at all," she replied, "I am fond of music, and the airs you hum are new to me. Pray, if not a rude question, whose are they?"

"Citoyenne," he answered, diffidently," they are my own.”

"Indeed?" cried the lady, with animation," and you have never published them?"

"I shall never try-again," he murmured, ut. tering the last word in a low and despairing tone, which however, reached the ars of the young

woman.

"Good-night, citoyen!" said she, and she closed her window. The composer sighed, rose and went out to take his usual walk by the seabeach; there, before the granduer and sublimity of the ocean, and amid the murmur of its bellowing waves, to forget the cares of the world, his poverty, and his crushed vision of glory and renown-the day-dream of all superior minds-a dream for oftener a punishment than a reward; for of those who sigh for fame, few indeed are successful.

Scarcely had he left the house, than a lady, habited in a cloak and hood, entered it; and after a somewhat lengthened conference with his concierge, ascended to his room, and remained there about an hour.-At the end of that time she van. ished. It was midnight when the composer returned. He entered with difficulty, the Cerberus of the lodge being asleep, and ascended to his wretched room. He had left it littered and dirty, without light, fire, or food. To his surprise, a cheerful blaze sent its rays beneath the door. He opened, not without alarm, and found his apartment neatly ordered, a fire burning, a lamp, and on the table a supper. The young man frowned, and looked sternly at the scene.

"Who dares thus insult my poverty? Is it not enough that I am starving with cold and hunger, that I am rejected by the world as a useless and wretched thing, incapable of wielding either sword or pen, but I must be insulted by charity? Fire, light and food, all sent to me by one who knows my necessity! And yet who knows? Perhaps my mother may have discovered my retreat. Who else could have acted thus? My mother, I bless thee, both for your action and for respecting my concealment!" And the invalid officer sat down to the first hearty meal he had eaten for weeks. He had left home because his friends wholly disap. proved of his making music a profession, and wishing him to employ his leave of absence in

learning another occupation. His mother so pres. sed him, that he saw no resource but a soldier's last chance, a retreat. For two months no trace of the fugitive had been seen-two months spent in vain efforts to make his chosen career support him; and now, doubtless, his mother had found him out, and had taken this delicate way of respect. ing his sccrecy and punishing his pride.

Next morning the young man awoke with an appetite unknown to him of late.-The generous food of the previous night had restored his system, and brought him to a natural state. Luckily, sufficient, wine, and bread remained to satisfy his craving and then he sat down to think. All his efforts to get his music sung, or played, or published, had been vain. Singers knew him not, publishers declared him unknown, and the public seemed doomed never to hear him, because they never had heard him; a logical consequence very injurious to young beginners in literature, poesy, music, and all the liberal arts. But he was determined to have one more trial. Having eaten, he dressed and went out in the direction of the shop of the Citoyen Dupont, a worthy and excellent man, who in his day had published more music, bad and good, than a musician could have played in a life-time.

perate intent. He closed carefully the window,
stuffed his matress up the chimney, and with paper
stopped every aperture where air could enter.
Then he drew forth his parcel of charcoal and a
burner, and lit it. Thus had this wretched man
determined to end his sufferings. He had made
one last effort, and now in that solitary, dismal
garret he laid him down to die; and poverty and
misery, genius and death, were huddled close to-
gether.

Meanwhile, amid a blaze of light, the evening's
amusement had begun at the theatre. A new
Opera from Paris was to be played, and the prima
donna was the young, lovely, and worshiped Clau-
dine, the Jenny Lind of that time and place. The
house was crowded, and the first act succeeding
beyond all expectation, the audience were in ecs-
tasy.

landed in the pit, and, bareheaded, light-dressed as she was, rushed towards the door, followed by every spectator and by the musicians, who, however, put on their hats, and even threw a cloak and cap on the excited and generous young songstress.

Meanwhile the composer's dreadful resolve was being carried out. The horrid fumes of the char. coal filled the room; soon they began to consume and exhaust the pure air, and the wretched youth felt all the pangs of coming death. Hunger, exhaustion, and despair kindled a kind of madness in his brain; wild shapes danced around him; his many songs seemed sung altogether by coarse, husky voices, that made their sound a punishment, and then the blasted atmosphere oppressing his chest darkening his vision, his room seemed ten-, anted by myriads of infernal and deformed beings. "She is a jewel!" said M. Dupont, who, from Then again he closed his eyes, and soft memory a private box, admired the great supporter of his stealing in upon him, showed him happy visions theatre. A roar of applause from the pit delighted, of his youth, of his mother, of love, of hope, and joy ; at this instant, the good man's ears. Claudine, of green fields and the murmuring brooks which called before the curtain, was bowing to the audi-had first revealed melody unto his soul; and the ence.-But what is this? Instead of going off, young man thought that death must come and she has just signed to the orchestra to play. She that he was on the threshold of a better world. is about to show her gratitude to the audience in M. Dupont rubs his hands, and repeats twice between his teeth," she is a jewel!" But with ease and rapidity the band has commenced playing and unknown air, and the next instant M. Dupont is standing up with a wild and strange look. Hushed and still was every breath; the audience, look at each other; not a word of communication takes place; men shudder, or rather tremble with emotion.--But the first stanza is ended, and then a frantic shout, a staring of all to their feet, a will shriek of delight, a cry of a thousand voices thun. youdering the chorus, show how the song has electrified them.

"You have something new, then, citoyen?" said Dupont, after the usual preliminaries, and after apologizing to a lady within his office for leaving her awhile." As my time is precious, pray play it at once, and sing it if you will."

The young man sat himself at the harpsichord which adorned the shop, and began at once the "Song of the Army of the Rhine." The music publisher listened with the air of one who is not to be deceived, and shook his head as the composer

ended.

"Rough, crude, but clever. Young man, will, I doubt not, do something good one of these days, but at present; I am sorry to say, your efforts want finish, polish."

The singer rose, and bowing, left the shop, despair at his heart. He had not a sou in the world, his rent was an arrear, he knew not how to dine that evening, unless indeed, his mother came again to his aid-an aid he was very unwilling to receive. -His soul shrunk from it, for he parted from her in anger. His mother was a Royalist, he was a Republican, and she had said bitter things to him at parting. But most of all, the composer felt one thing; the world would never be able to judge him, never be able to decide if he had or had not merit, and this was the bitterest grief of all.

That day was spent in moody thought. The evening came, and no sign of his secret friend, { whether mother or unknown sympathizer. Towards night the plangs of hunger became intolerable, and after numerous parleys with himself, the young man ascended to his room with a heavy parcel.His eye was wild, his cheek pale, his whole mein unearthly. As he passed the door of his lodge the concierge gave him a ticket for the Opera, signed Dupont, who was manager of the theatre.

verse.

M. Dupont frowned, for the air and the song were not new to him; it was the "Song of the Army of the Rhine," he had refused that morning. But Claudine proceeds: again the audience is hushed in death-like silence, while the musicians, roused to an unusual degree of enthusiasm, played admirably; and Claudine, still singing with all the purity, feeling, and energy of her admirable voice, plunged her eyes into every corner of the house in vain. At each couplet, the enthusiasm of the people became greater, the anxiety of the signer more intense. At length she concluded, and never did applause more hearty, more tremendous, more uproarious, greet the voice of a public songstress. The excitable population of Marseilles seemed mad.

When silence was restored, Claudine spoke: "Citoyen and citoyennes!" she exclaimed, this song is both written and composed by a young and unknown man, who has in vain sought to put his compositions before the public. Everybody has refused them. For myself, I thought this the greatest musical effort of modern times, and as such I practised it to day; and, unknown to man"Go thyself," said the composer in a low husky ager or author, I and the band prepared this sur voice, and he went up stairs.

Having gained the room, and unhappy and misguided young man sat silent and motionless, for some hours, until at length hunger, despair, and his dreamy visions had driven every calm and good thought from his head, and then he dared quietly proceed to carry out his dreadful and des

prise. But the author is not here. Poor and des
pairing, he is at home lamenting his unappreciated
efforts! Let us awake him, let him learn that the
generous people of Marseilles can understand and
feel great music. Come, let ail who have hearts
follow me, and chant the mighty song as we go."
And Claudine, stepping across the orchestra,

But an awful shout, a tremendous clamor burst upon his ear; a thousand voices roar beneath his window. The young man starts from his dream : what is this he hears ?

"Aux armes! citoyens, Formez vos batillions," etc. "What is this ?" he cries. "My Song of the Rhine!"

He listens. A beautiful and clear voice is singing; it is still his song, and then the terrible chorus is taken up by the people, and the poor composer's first wish is gained he feels that he is famous.

But he is dying, choked, stifled with charcoal. He lies senseless, fainting on his bed, but hope and joy give him strength. He rises, falls rather than darts across the room, his sword in hand. One blow shivers the panes of his window to atoms; the broken glass lets in the coal sea-breeze and the splendid song. Both give life to the young man, and when Claudine entered the room, composer was able to stand. In ten minutes he had supped in the porter's lodge, dressed and come out to be borne in triumph back to the theatre, where that night he heard, amid renewed applause, his glorious song sung between every act, and each time gaining renewed laurels.

the

Ten days later, Rouget de L'Isle was married to Claudine, the prima-donna of Marseilles; and the young composer, in gratitude to her and her countrymen, changed the name of his soug, and called it by the name it is still known by-" The Mar. seillaise !"-Chamber's Edinburg Jour.

ORIGINAL COMMUNICATIONS.

For the Rural Repository.

A CHAPTER ON SPEECH.

BY ME.

THE power of speech is one of the many great gifts, with which human nature is endowed, and is almost the only gift that escaped unimpaired, when, " In Adam's fall, we sinned all," while other created objects underwent a change, even to the beautiful and fertile earth; that was condemned to "bring forth thorns and thistles," instead of "every

man the third. A second match took place in the evening between the American and French boat, The American again manned by Englishman.

{necticut River," the "Charter Oak," and many
kindred themes. Probably her "Letters to Young
Ladies" should be ranked first in usefulness and
ability among her prose works, though several proved the victor, leaving her rival a long way as.
others, intended like that, to improve the mindstern. She belonged to the brig Adele, of Philadel-
and the hearts of her sex, have been much read, phia; she subsequently beat an English boat
and generally praised.
manned by Spanish sailors, making a third triumph.
Mrs. SIGOURNEY has been a frequent contributor-Charleston (S. C.) Mercury.
to the best periodicals of this country, and has oc-
casionally written for the English annuaries. Six
or seven volumes of her poetry have been published,
of which the last appeared near the close of 1841.
In the summer of 1840, she went to Europe, and
remained there a year, visiting the principal cities
of Great Britain and France, and Avon, Dryburgh
Abbey, Grassmere, and Rydal Mount, and other
Meccas of the literary pilgrim. While in London
a collection of her writings was published in that
city.

tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for
food," the tongue, that had held parley with the
tempter, and afterward with "much fair speech,"
seduced the first man from his natural allegiance,
was left free to act its own will, and to discharge
its own bidding. Why it was, that the prime actor
in that "disobedience, which brought death into
the world, and all our woes," should remain un-
scathed in the general derangement which followed
we cannot tell, but so it was; and ever since, that
little "member" seems disposed to take advantage
of the strange partiality, and to exercise its powers,
when, where, and on whatsoever it pleases. All
this is very well, and no one finds fault with its
license, for if all do not like to talk, yet the majori-
ty part of the world love to hear talk, especially
such talk as is both harmless and instructive, nei-
ther too quick or too slow; that is willing to leave
off when it has said all, without over-taxing the
politeness of the listener. But there are some speci- Mrs. SIGOURNEY has surpassed any of the poets
mens of talk, not altogether so agreeable. For in- of her sex in this country in the extent of her pro.
stance, the vulgar gossip of the day, that victimi-ductions; and their religious and domestic char.
zes truth, and shames morality and order, feedingacter has made them popular with the large classes
the ears of some kindred spirit with its tale of mys- who regard more than artistic merit the spirit and
tery and suspicion; and fit only for the entertain- tendency of what they read. Her subjects are
ment of the greedy herd, who feast upon the poison varied, and her diction generally melodious and
and fatten on its offals. Then there are the illiter-free; but her works are written too carelessly;
they lack vigour and condensation; and possess
but few of the elements of enduring verse. Very
little poetry, save that of scholars, finished with
extreme care and skill, belongs to the permanent
literature of any language.

ate speechifiers, who, instead of remaining quiet hearers in a public assembly, must needs rise, and pour out their vials of ignorance, in the midst of at least, a common sense audience. These classes of talkers are a perfect nuisance, and do more mischief to society, than did the croaking frogs, that overspread the land of Egypt, in the days of Moses and of Pharaoh, and ought, in no wise to be tolerated in any civil community.

BIOGRAPHY.

LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.
LYDIA HUNTLEY, now MRS. SIGOURNEY, was

born at Norwich, in Connecticut, about the year
1797. From early childhood she was remarkable

for her love of knowledge, and the facility with which she acquired it. She could read with fluency when but three years old, and at eight she wrote verses which gave promise of the entinence she has

since attained. Some of her early contributions to the public journals attracted the attention of Mr.

DANIEL WADSWORTH, a wealthy and intelligent gentleman of Hartford, who induced her to collect and publish thein in a volume, which appeared in 1815, under the modest title of " Moral Pieces, by LYDIA HUNTLEY." About the same period she commenced a select school for young women, which she conducted for several years with much ability.

MISCELLANY.

DISGRACEFUL RECEPTIONS. CONTRIVANCES for playing tricks upon visitors were common in princely gardens in the last century, by squirting water suddenly upon them from unexpected sources.

In one case, a hugh copper serpent, started up and moving round swiftly, shot from its mouth a shower on the spectators. In another, two musketeers [artificial] shot streams of water upon them from their musket barrels. In one of the finest gardens in England, visitors are suddenly treated with a ducking from the numerous branches of an artificial tree. Such low trickery is only fit for ill-bred school boys. More justifiable was this punishment inflicted on lawless curiosity, where a forbidden door was labelled, "Don't open this,"-and as soon as it was moved upon its hinges, a dashing shower bath came down

from above.

A STORY OF THE PLAGUE. DURING our walk, Mr. H. gave me an account of the death of one of his friends, when the plague, a few years ago, almost depopulated the cities of the east. The man had a wife and six lovely little children, his great fondness for whom made him extremely cautious during the raging of this scourge, so much so, that he shut himself and

GENIUS IN A BARBER SHOP. A LITTLE more the 70 years ago, might have seen in the town of Preston, in the North of Eng-family in the house and yard, and had no communication with any one. His gates were never unland, a poor unknown and unletterred mar., who contrived to keep body and soul together by shav-barred, and nothing was received into the house ing the dusty beards of wayfarers at a half penny a shave. This man was then thirty years of age. But while pursuing the humble vocation, he was filled with high thoughts of an invention which was

except food, which he attended to himself, making sure that it was not handled till it had been thoroughly washed in vinegar and water, which sufficiently purified it. This he strictly adhered to, destined to effect the most surprising results. He till report said that the plague had ceased, and the contrived at moments stolen from sleep to form a commissary, one day in going his rounds, assured model of his inventions. His wife burnt it, think-him through the small hole cut in the gate for the ing her man had better stick to barbering.

He turned her out of doors and made another.

His townsmen understanding what he was about
and how his invention would do away with labor,
mobbed him, and he had to fly for his life. Perse-
vering against innumerable difficulties from poverty
and oppression from the ignorant, he at last suc-
ceeded in perfecting and introducing his spinning
frame, an invention to which England owes her
own greatness, power, and wealth and without
which she might have been a colony of France, or

purpose of conversation and receiving food, that he believed the epidemic had disappeared. The in. mate, happy at the intelligence and that he and all his family had escaped, said to the commissary, "I give you something to drink for the good news you bring." He accordingly brought a tumbler and some spirits and gave the man, then took the tumbler back, bade him good day, and went in. The commissary moved only a little further on his rounds, when the plague seized him and he expired. The gentleman within the house took the plague

In 1819 she was married to Mr. Charles Sig- at best a third or fourth nation. The poor barber and in less than thirty-six hours neither he nor any

ourney, a leading merchant and banker, of Hartford. Their two children have been carefully educated by herself, and she has had the charge of a large household from the time of her marriage; but she has never for a single year omitted the literary pursuits to which she was so early devoted. Her visits to the tomb of the mother of Washington, to Niagara, and other places, have been fitly commemorated in her poems, while the splendid scenery and the bistory of New England have been celebrated in "Connecticut Forty Years Ago," a prose legend, and in stanzas inspired by the "Con

became Sir Richard Arkwright, and his splendid
estates in England still attest British gratitude.

AMERICAN SKILL.

AT a regatta in Cuba, eight boats started for the first match; one Spanish, one American, one French, manned by British seamen, one German, and the other four English. The distance was two miles from the mole; the match resulted in the American boat's coming in winner of the first prize; the French boat won the second the Ger.

person of his whole family was alive.

THE FIRST TOWNS IN AMERICA THE National Intelligencer relates the following curious facts, which will be news to many of our readers:

It will seem curious to those who are not aware of the fact, that the first towns built by Europeans upon the American Continent, were St. Augustine, in East Florida, and Santa Fe, the capital of New Mexico. The river Gila was explored before the

who instantly felt its powers, but understanding be licentiousness, if it allowed us to harm others, sinners that have been cannonaded, ought to have

THERE is this difference between those two tem "Yeou agreed to du it," said Jonathan cool-poral blessings, health and money; money is the most envied, but the least enjoyed, health is the "I shan't do any such thing," said Hans-it is most enjoyed, but the least envied; and the supeimpossible." riority of the latter is the still more obivious when