ORIGINAL.

For the Poughkeepsie Casket.
THE RIVALS.

A PENCIL SKETCH.

Zeuxis was the pride and boast of Athens.His pencil had no rival, and thrice he had been crowned victor at the Olympic games. The dwellings of the rich and noble and the temples of the gods were decorated with the fruits of his genius. He was courted by the wise and powerful. Admirers came from distant cities to look upon the Athenian Painter whose name was on the lips of all men. Even the proud ruler of Palmyra sent a deputation to invite him to the Palmyrene court. Cotemporary artists acknowledged his superiority, and Appollodorus, the father of Athenian painters, declared that Zeuxis "had stolen the cunning from all the rest." Thus flattered and caressed, Zeuxis became proud and haughty. He found no rival for he knew no equal.

The Athlothetæ employed him to paint a Wrestler or Champion to adorn the peristylum of the Gymnasia. Assembled thousands gave a simultaneous shout of applause when the picture was exhibited on the first day of the games. The victors in the chariot race, the athlatea, the discus and cestus were almost forgotten amid the general admiration of the picture of Zeuxis. Conscious of his superiority, the artist wrote beneath the picture, "Invisurus aliquis facilius quam imitatarus ;"-"Sooner envied than equal. led."

The third day of the games had terminated. The last rays of the sun yet lingered upon the grey summits of the Acropolis, and burnished the crest of hoary Olympus that gleamed in the distance. Zeuxis sat alone with his wife and daughter, listening attentively to the strains of a minstrel who swept the lyre for a group of joyous dancers assembled near the grove sacred to Psyche. As the music ceased, a deep sigh escaped the daughter, and a tear trembled in the maiden's eye.

"Ha! Cassandra," said Zeuxis, "why that tear, that sigh ?" A deep crimson suffused the face of the maiden, but her lips moved not.

"Tell me Cassandra," said the father, inquisitively eyeing the blushing damsel, "tell me what new grief makes sorrowful the heart of my daughter? Thinkest thou yet of the worthless Parrhasius-even now upon the eve of thy nuptials with the noble Thearchus ?"

emotions of Cassandra. Four years had elap-
sed since Parrhasius had asked her in marriage.
Affection, deep and abiding as vitality itself, ex-
isted between the amiable couple; but the am-
bition of Zeuxis made him forget his duty to his
child, and he resolved that the wealthy and no-
ble Thearchus, the son of one of the judges of
the Areopagus, should be her husband. When
Parrhasius modestly pressed his suit, Zeuxis be-
came indignant and called him a plebian-a poor
Ephesian--unworthy an alliance with the
daughter of the great Athenian painter.

The spirit of Parrhasius was aroused, and standing up in all the conscious dignity of genius, he boldly repelled the insults of Zeuxis, and, with a voice that reached the ears of Cassandra, he exclaimed, "Know, proud man, that thou, the unrivalled master of Greece, of the world, will yet envy the talents and fame of Parrhasius, the poor plebian of Ephesus!"

The rage of Zeuxis was unbounded, and he ordered the servants to thrust the youth from his presence. The order was obeyed, and ere the setting of the sun, Parrhasius departed from Athens to practice his skill in seclusion at Ephe. sus.

||

lieved it not.

This hope had thus far delayed her marriage with Thearchus. Her father, to add splendor to her nuptial rites and gratify his passion for popThis inscription met the eye of one who be- ularity, resolved to have their union consummated during the festival of the Olympic games.For three years she contrived to delay the cere mony, for she loved not Thearchus. But now, Zeuxis was resolved, and had made preparations for the celebration of the marriage on the last day of the games. The herald had already || made the proclamation, and all Athens greeted with joy the approaching nuptials of the noble Thearchus and lovely Cassandra.

For four years no tidings of the exile were conveyed to Cassandra, yet hope whispered that his prediction of excellence would be fulfilled, and that Destiny contemplated their eventual union.

sion of circumstances. To-day it burns with volcanic violence, to-morrow it is but a glimmer. ing taper."

"It may be so with the sensual," replied Cassandra. "With them indeed it is a passion of circumstances. Yet, after all, it is not love. It is but a poor semblance of the holy passion. Pure affection springs not from the dross of earth, the wealth, power and pageantry of individuals, or of society, nor from the ephemeral loveliness of the human form. Such is but lust, and does

--

not deserve the name of love. When moral and intellectual worth-the beauties and amiability of character-the noble evidence of exalted genius excite our admiration, and win our affections for the possessor, then indeed do we love a worthy object. Such, dear father, was my love for Parrhasius, and notwithstanding thy will must shortly unite me with Thearchus, yet first love cannot be extinguished."

Zeuxis was silent. He loved his daughter almost to adoration, yet burning ambition would not permit him again to delay the nuptials on which he had resolved. He kissed the tears from the check of Cassandra, and was about to retire for the night, but the maiden seized his hand,and looking imploringly in his face said—

"Hear me once more, dear father, ere the decree of my unhappiness has irrevocably gone forth. Hope whispers in my ear that the prophetic taunt uttered by Parrhasius may yet be verified. Thou knowest the genius and spirit of that youth, and I know that thy gentle nature will now forgive him the utterance of words spoken in passion. Forgive and Cassandra will be happy."

"Nay, dear father," said Cassandra, "it was the music made me weep. It awakened mem- "But Thearchus has no place in my affecory to the happy hours spent with my dear Por- tions,” replied Cassandra. "I love him not, and tia, who is now among the immortals. Four to wed him is but to plunge me into deeper misyears ago we danced together to the same strain, || ery! What is wealth, what is nobility and the|| and the lyre was touched by the gentle Parrha- | applause of the people, if the affections of the sius." heart have no participation therein. They are "Gentle Parrhasius, sayst thou, Cassandra; but the ministers of woe to the broken-spirit. gentle Parrhasius! Wouldst thou call him gen. Without love there is no happiness; without hap. tle, the poor plebian, who sought to rival the piness, what is life? I would sooner wed a peas. noble Thearchus in thy affections?—who open-ant than an archon, did he but bring with him the ly avowed in the streets of Athens, that his pencil would yet make Zeuxis envious?" "And yet he was gentle,” replied Cassandra, and the big round tears coursed down her cheeks. The brow of Zeuxis lowered as he beheld the

"For thy sake I will pardon the rashness of the Ephesian boy," said Zeuxis. But why thy hope? Wouldst thou see thy father rivalled, and the voice of Athens loud in the praises of another ?"

"Nay," replied Cassandra, "it is not for that I hope. But thy daughter loves Parrhasius, and may the gods make him worthy of that love in the eyes of her father. This is the foundation of my hope. Is it not just ?"

"Truly," replied Zeuxis, and bade her good night.

"Oife word more !" exclaimed Cassandra, still clinging to his arm, "One more boon and Cassandra will be completely happy. Promise me that I shall wed Parrhasius, if his prediction is

"Come, come, Cassandra," said Zeuxis cares-
singly, "these tears but ill become the daughter of
the Athenian painter on the eve of her nuptials
with one of the noblest sons of Greece. "For-
get that childish passion that attached thee to
Parrhasius, and thank the gods that Fate expel-
led him from Athens."
"Would you see your Cassandra happy ?" said fulfilled."
the weeping maiden.

"I would indeed,” replied Zeuxis, "and it was
for her happiness that I spurned the Ephesian,
and favored Thearchus."

riches of true affection."

"Madness! madness!" exclaimed Zeuxis,
"This philosophy may do for a peasant maiden,
but it should not pollute the lips of a daughter
of Zeuxis. Talk of love! Why it is but a pas- ||

"I promise," replied Zeuxis, conscious that her hopes were groundless, and that the last day of the festival would see the daughter of the Athenian painter become the bride of one of the noblest youth of Athens.

On the following morning Zeuxis prepared for the games. Just at the moment of starting, a helot approached him with a roll, directed to "Zeuxis,the unrivalled painter of Greece." He unbound it and read

"PARRHASIUS, THE PLEBIAN BOY OF EPHESUS, TO ZEUXIS, THE GRAET ATHENIAN ARTIST, GREETING: Ten days and the games of terminate. On the ninth I challenge thee to a trial of skill. The subject is left to the choice of the challenged."

Zeuxis rent the challenge in a thousand pieces, and burning with rage exclaimed, "Tell your master that Zeuxis stoops not to compete with plebians. Tell him I trampled his insolent challenge beneath my feet, even as I would crush its

author. Begone! Gods, is it come to this!" continued he, "Must I first bear the taunts of that boy, and then, in the face of thousands have him challenge me to trial. I know him well. If I refuse, a herald will proclaim that refusal in every street of Athens, in the Gymnasium and the Circus. It must not be." And he command-|| ed the helot to return.

"Tell your master," said he, "that I accept the challenge-the subject, fruit." The helot departed.

"Now," said Zeuxis, "my triumph will be complete, and Cassandra's delusion will be broken. Now will I prove that the insolent Ephesian is unworthy the notice of one so superior and truly noble;" and with proud step he proceeded to

the Circus.

: In a few hours all Athens was in commotion. A new impulse had been given to the popular excitement, and the first sound that fell upon the ear of Zeuxis, as he entered the Circus, was the voice of a herald proclaiming that an Ephesian painter had challenged the great Artist to a trial

of skill.

The fact soon became known to Cassandra, and joy beamed into the heart of the maiden. Although she knew not the name of the competitor, yet she was sure it was none other than Parrhasius. None heard the voice of the herald with more gladness than that devoted one, and the gods received her adoration and praise.

The time fixed upon for the trial arrived. The thousands collected to witness the games, flowed like a living torrent though the eastern gate of the city, and halted upon the hill which overlooked a flowery plain, bordering upon the Illysus. Sol had passed over half his journey to the meridian, when, amid the thundering shouts of the populace, Zeuxis with a proud and haughty step left the pavillion of the judges, and with a tablet in his hand, on which was painted a cluster of grapes, proceeded to the plain. Upon a column erected for the purpose, near a grove, the artist placed his painting, and withdrawing the curtain that covered it, returned to the pavillion. All was silence amid that immense multitude, and the songs of birds came up from the grove as if they were chanting an eulogy for the great painter.

Suddenly a deafening shout of "Zeuxis and Athens!" arose from the throng. A whole bevy of birds from the grove had alighted upon the column, and eagerly sought to devour the pic. tured fruit!

This was deemed sufficient evidence of the superiority of the Athenian, and the people clamored loudly for the crown of laurels and the branch of palm for Zeuxis. But the skill of the competitor was yet to be tried. Pale and trem.

bling, the Ephesian stepped forth from the

villion, and not a voice greeted him save one. It was the silvery tones of a fair youth, half enshrouded in a mantle, who cried out "Victory

for Parrhasius !"

"Victory for Parrhassius !" echoed a few, but, their voices fell like lead upon the young pain. ter. As he passed, with his tablet in his hand, the spot were Zeuxis was receiving the congratulations of the multitude, the proud Athenian, in a haughty and scornful tone, cried out, "Come sir, away with your curtain, that we may see what goodly affair you have got beneath it."

E.

Parrhasius approached his scornful competit. the glad season with their rejoicing, but will draw or, and handed him his tablet. Had a thunder-pure draughts from her unfathomed well at Wisbolt fell at the feet of Zeuxis, he could not have dom's shrine,and nurse the never-dying lamp that been more astounded. The curtain was painted burns brighter and brighter as ages roll on. upon the tablet, and was so exquisitely wrought, that even the practiced eye of Zeuxis did not detect the deception.

"I yield! I yield!" cried the Athenian; Zeuxis beguiled poor birds, but Parrhasius hath deceived Zeuxis! Bring the laurel and the palm; my hand alone shall crown the victor!"

THE HAPPIEST TIME.

"And thy promise!" exclaimed the fair youth just mentioned, bounding forward and grasping the hand of Zeuxis. The mantle fell from the shoulders of the youth, and Cassandra, with all the loveliness of virtuous affection, received the passionate embrace of Parrhasius. The crown of laurels and the branch of palm were brought, and there, in the presence of assembled thousands, Zeuxis decorated the plebian of Ephesus

When are we happiest? When the morning light wakes the young roses from their crimson rest, when cheerful sounds, borne upon the fresh winds, teil man to resume his work with better zest,-while the bright waters leap from rock to glen? Alas! roses will fade away, and thunder tempests will deform the sky, and summer heats bid the spring buds decay; the clear sparkling fountain may be dry, and nothing beauteous may adorn the scene to tell what it has been. Are we happiest in the crowded hall, when flatterers bend the knee and fortune smiles? No: we are not happy there: how soon, how very soon such pleasures pall,-how fast the Mounting a pedestal, he addressed rainbow coloring of falsehood must flee and its the multitude. He recounted the passion of Par-prison flowrets prove the sting of care. Are we rhasius for Cassandra, and of his promise; and the happiest when the evening hearth is circled told of his engagement with Thearchus. But with its crown of living flowrets,--when the laugh the shouts of the multitude interrupted him, of harmless mirth goes round, and affection showand the names of Parrhasius and Cassandra fell ers from her bright urn her richest balm on the difrom every lip. lating heart? is bliss to be found there? Oh no!if it might be always, it would be happiness al

as victor.

A noble youth came from the pavillion with another branch of palm, and placed it in the hand of Cassandra. It was Thearchus. He had witnessed the devotion of the lovers, and his generous heart melted at the spectacle before him. He had tenderly loved the maiden, but he nobly resigned all.

but they must decay, for they are things of earth and pass away: those voices must grow tremu. lous with years,-those smiling brows must wear a tinge of gloom,-those sparkling eyes must be "Laurels for Thearchus!" shouted the multi- quenched in bitter tears, and, at last, close darkly tude, and he, too, was crowned victor, for he in the tomb; if happiness depends in them alone, had conquered love. how quickly it is gone!-When are we happy, Matrons and virgins strewed with flowers the then? Oh! we are happiest when we are repath of Parrhasius and Cassandra as they return-signed to whatsoever may brim our cup of life,— ed to the city; and on the following day their when we, creatures of earth, can know ourselves nuptials were celebrated with a splendor fully to be but weak and blind, and trust alone in adequate to the wishes of the ambitious Zeuxis. Him who giveth in his mercy joy or pain. The Games ended-the city became quiet-a few years of happiness cast their sun-light around the foot-steps of the great painter, and he went down into the tomb honored and mourned by a nation-by a world, wherever his fame spread. His mantle fell upon Parrhasius, who is rever. ed as the greatest painter of antiquity.

E.

Poughkeepsie, April, 1838.

For the Poughkeepsie Casket.
TRANSPOSITIONS.
SPRING. BY J. G. P.

The sun is on the waters, and the air breathes
with a stirring energy; the plants swell their
buds, blow, and expand their leaves, wooing the
eye, and stealing on the soul with perfume and
with beauty :—Life awakes; its wings are wa.
paving and its fins at play glancing from out the
streamlets, and the voice of love and joy is
warbled in the grove. Children sport upon the
springing turf with shouts of innocent glee,
and youth is fired with a diviner passion while
the eye speaks deeper meaning, and the cheek
is filled with purer flushings at every tender
motion of the heart. The Boundless Power
that rules all living creatures now has sway :-
In man refined to holiness it feeds upon a flame
that purifies the heart,-and yet the searching
spirit will not blend these attractive charms of

B. J. L.

most like heaven; those brows, without one sha

ding of distress,would want nothing but eternity,

THE HUNDRED LARGEST CITIES IN THE WORLD. A recent German publication gives the following curious calculation respecting the hundred most populous cities in the world: -These are Jeddo in Japan, 1,630,000 in. habitants; Pekin, 1,500,000; London, 1,500,000; Hans Ichen, 1,000,000; Calcutta, 900,000; Paris, 900,000; Madras, 816,000; Nankin, 800,000; Congo Ischeen, 800,000; Werst Chans, 600,000; Constantinople, 490,000; Benares, 530,000; Kio, 520,000; Su Ischam, 497,000; Houngh Ischem, 500,000; New-York, 300,000; Philadelphia, 200,000. The fortieth in the list is Berlin, containing 190,000, and the last Bristol, 89,000. Among the hundred cities, three contain a million and a half, one upwards of a million, nine from half a million

to a million, twenty-three from two hundred thousand to five hundred thousand, fifty-six from one to two hundred thousand, and six from eighty-seven thousand to one hundred thousand.

Of these hundred cities, 58 are in Asia, and 32

in Europe-of which 4 are in Germany, 4 in
France, 5 in Italy, 8 in England, and 3 in
Spain. The remaining ten are divided between
Africa and America.

Rats and conquerors must expect no mercy in misfortune.

return.

years the great poet, whose fame was already spread over Europe, seems to have wandered from city to city in his native country, in a state almost of beggary, impolled by a restlessness of spirit which no change of scene would relieve. But Ferrara was still the central spot around which his affections hovered, and to which, apparently in spite of himself, he would In 1597, the Duke Alphonso, his former friend and patron, consigned him as a lunatic to the Hospital of St. Anne. In this receptacle of wretchedness the poet was confined for above seven years. The princess Leonora who had been supposed to have been the innocent cause of his detention, died in 1581; but neither this event, or the solicitations of several of his most powerful friends and admirers, could prevail upon Alphonso to grant him his liberty. Meanwhile the alleged lunatic occupied and lightened many of his hours by the exercise of his pen. His compositions both in prose and verse were numerous, and many of

them found their way to the press. At last, in

1586, at the earnest solicitation of Don Vincenza Gonzaga, son of the duke of Mantua, he was released from his long imprisonment. But his old disposition to flit about from place to place, scemed to cling to him like a disease. In this singular mode of existence, he met with

majesty, the beauty and loftiness both of senti-
ment and language by which it is marked are
perhaps in somewhat artificial style, and want
the life and spell of power which belong to the
creations of the mightier masters of epic song,
Homer, Dante, and Milton. His genius was
unquestionably far less original and self-sustain-
ed than any of these. It is not, however, the
triumph of mere art with which he captivates
and imposes upon us, but something far beyond
that; it is rather what Wordsworth, in speak.
ing of another subject, has called "the pomp of
cultivated nature."

DESULTORY SELECTIONS.

the strangest vicissitudes of fortune. One day

he would be the most conspicuous object at a splendid court, covered with lavish honors of the prince, and basking in the admiration of all beholders; another, he would be travelling a

ANECDOTES OF DUELLING.

In most cases growing out of differences in society, it is the man who is most in the wrong who seeks redress. He feels himself in the wrong, and therefore in a manner disgraced; he wants something to take off the sense of public censure, and he remembers that by the code of honor a duel absolves both parties of all that

or he must have fought.

Lord Brudenell, son of the Earl of Cardigan, ran away with a married lady, who was afterwards divorced, and he married her, and she is now Lady Brudenell. But his Lordship, after the first escapade, was somewhat surprised that

"Sir,-Your note is received. My husband will not have any thing to do with you under any circumstances; but whenever you produce official proof that you have been aid-de-camp to Prince Blucher, as you say, I will MARY R." fight a duel with you myself.

One story suggests another; and to stories about duels there is no end. We will make an end of telling them, however, with one from

went before it. We remember an instance
which occurred in a packet-ship, where a man,
either drunk or in some violent excitement, made Boston, where, we are told, there is a corres-
an assault on a table at which several persons-pondence going on still, which began ten years
some of them ladies-were sitting. The near-
est man repelled him by force, and was after.
wards called upon, at Havre, to fight him for his
satisfaction. He replied, "Sir, you brought
your disgrace upon yourself, and I will lend you

ago with a challenge. Mr. A., a bachelor, chal-
lenged Mr. B., a married man with one child,

who replied that the conditions were not equal,
that he must necessarily put more at risk with
his life than the other, and he declined. A year
afterwards he received a challenge from Mr. A.,

no aid to wipe it off." The answer was most
logical, and in accordance with sense, and our

[American Monthly Magazine.

The reply was this:

lone on the highway, with weary steps and emp-customs and opinions; but by the code of hon-
ty purse, and reduced to the necessity of bor-
rowing, or rather begging, by the humblest suit
the means of sustaining existence. Such was
his life for six or seven years. At last, in 1594,
he made his appearance at Rome. It was re-
solved that the greatest living poet of Italy
should be crowned with the laurel in the impe- he did not receive a challenge from the injured matter, when last heard from, was still going
rial city, as Petrarch had been more than two
hundred and fifty years before. The decree to
that effect was passed by the Pope and the Se-
nate; but ere the day of triumph came, Tasso
THE ALPHABET OF REQUISITES FOR A WIFE.-
was seized with an illness, which he instantly
[By an Elderly Bachelor.]-A wife should be
felt would be mortal. At his own request he
Amiable, affectionate, artless, affable, accom.
was conveyed to the monastery of St. Onofrio,
plished; Beautiful, benign, benevolent; Chaste,
the same retreat in which, twenty years before,
his father had breathed his last; and here he
table, civil, constant, Dutiful, dignified, elegant,
charming, candid, cheerful, complacent, chari.
patiently awaited what he firmly believed would
be the issue of his malady.. He expired in the
easy, engaging, entertaining; Faithful, fond,
faultless, free; Good, graceful, generous, gov.
arms of Cardinal Cuitheo Alpobrandini, on the
ernable, good-humored, Handsome, harmless,
25th of April, 1595, having just entered upon The real cause of the most violent quarrels is healthy, heavenly-minded; Intelligent, interest-
his fifty-second year. The Cardinal had just very often beyond the reach of evidence or ex-ing, industrious, ingenuous; Kind, lively, liberal,
brought him the Pope's benediction, on receiv-planation; and this it is which accounts for lovely; Modest, merciful, mannerly, Neat, noti.
ing which he exclaimed, "This is the crown with permanent and moral differences breaking out ble; Obedient, obliging; Pretty, pleasing,
which I hope to be crowned, not as a poet in on a trivial pretext, which seems like nothing; peaceable, pure; Righteous; Sociable, submis.
the Capitol, but with the glory of the blest in but is backed by old hatreds, indefinable slights, sive, sensible; Temperate, true; Virtuous;
heaven."
rivalries, and hoarded animosities. The once
Well-formed, and Young. When I meet with
Critics have differed widely in the estimation || notorious Baron Von Hoffman challenged a man
a woman possessed of all these requisites, I
of the poetical genius of Tasso, some ranking for not inviting him to dinner-a cause not like-
will marry!
the Jerusalem Delivered with the grandest pro-ly to be avowed, but certainly it was the real
ductions of ancient or modern times, and others one. The Baron had lost his trunk in the riv.
nearly denying it all claim to merit in that spe-er with all his letters of introduction, and con-
cies of compositions of which it professed to be sequently, till more came, his standing was not
an example. Nothing certainly but the most well ascertained. Some persons received him,
morbid prejudice could have dictated Boileau's others denounced him; but this latter class the
peevish allusion to "the tinsel of Tasso," as Baron, if he could get at them, was always
contrasted with "the gold of Virgil;" but already to fight. He knew very well that the
though the former is one of surpassing grace and ratio ultima regum, the logic of kings, was al-

has proved herself a wretch, you have done me the
"MY LORD: In taking off my hands a woman who
greatest favor one man can do another; and I think it
incumbent upon me to offer you the acknowledgments
which one gentleman owes to another in such circum-

stances."

husband, and he was so anxious to make repara.
tion, that at last he wrote to offer it. His note
was worded as follows:

"SIR: Having done you the greatest injury that one man can do another, I think it imcumbent upon me to offer you the satisfaction which one gentleman owes to another in such circumstances."

so the best logic for impostors; and if any of his credentials were short weight, he was ready to throw his pistol into the scale. In the case in question, Mr. J- R—, whom the Baron met in a certain set where he had access, was famous for his good dinners, from which the Baron was always left out. Weary of this, he called one day on Mr. R., and spread his credentials, such as they were, before him, by way of removing suspicions which, he said, he had heard R, had expressed, and against which he made a labored argument. He left his pa pers, and desired they might be returned with a note expressive of the impression they produ ced; but R. returned them in a blank envelope. The Baron thereupon sent a challenge, which was left at the door as if it had been an invitation for dinner. Mrs. R. opened it, and imme. diately replied to it as follows;

who stated that he too had now a wife and child,

and he supposed therefore the objection of Mr.

B. was no longer valid. Mr. B. replied that he

now had two children-consequently, the ine

quality still exsisted. The next year, Mr. A., renewed his challenge, having now two child. ren also; but his adversary had three. This

on, the numbers being six to seven, and the challenge yearly renewed.

The most costly book that was ever printed, was the Flora Brittannica, at the expense of John, Earl of Bute, (Wilkes' friend.) Only 7 copies were struck off, and the plates were then destroyed. The Earl presented a copy each to the King and Queen of England, the King and Queen of France, the Pope, the King of Sar. dinia, and kept one to himself.

LADIES' DEPARTMENT.

THE SECRET OF PRESERVING BEAUTY.

It has been observed that, during the period of youth, different women wear a variety of characters, such as the gay, the grave, etc. When it is found that even this loveliest season of life places its objects in varying lights, how necessary does it seem that woman should carry this idea yet farther by analogy, and recollect she has a summer as well as a spring; an autumn, and a winter! As the aspect of the earth alters with the changes of the year, so does the appearance of a woman adapt itself to the time which pas.

From this, my fair friends will easily apprehend that the most beautiful woman is not at forty what she was at twenty, nor at sixty what she was at forty. Each age has an appropriate style of figure and of pleasing; and it is the business

of discernment and taste to discover and maintain those advantages in their due seasons.

The general characteristics of youth are, meek dignity, chastened sportiveness and gentle

serving unaltered, the graceful majesty and tender gravity which may have marked its earlier years. But the gay manners of the comic muse must, in the advance of life, be discreetly softened down to little more than cheerful amenity. Time marches on, and another change takes place. Amiable as the former characteristics may be, they must give way to the sober, the venerable aspect with which age, experience, and "a soul commercing with the skies," ought to adorn

the silver hairs of the Christian matron.

Under these few heads we shall find much good
instruction. Temperance includes modera.
ration at table, and in the enjoyment of what the
world calls pleasure. A young beauty, were she
fair as Hebe, and elegant as the Goddess of Love
herself, would soon loose these charms by a course
of inordinate eating, drinking and late hours.

[London Court Journal,

PERSONAL DECORATIONS.

In a short time of universal famine, how ma.

ny jewels would you give for a single loaf of
bread ?-in a raging fever, how many diamonds
would you sacrifice for a moment's case ?-in a

ses over her. Like a rose in the garden, she buds, parched desert, now many cinbroidered robes called upon to follow him, and bid adieu to his
would you exchange for a cool draught? That mother, whom it might almost be said was the
she blows, she fades, she dies.
these gaudy trifles should be valued at so high a only parent he had ever known. The feelings
When the freshness of virgin youth vanishes;
when Delia passes her teens, and fastly approach-rate, is certainly no small disparagement to the of the young poet were thus tenderly expressed:
es her thirtieth year, she may then consider her. understanding of mankind, and is a sad demon-
stration of the meanness into which we have sunk
self in the noon of her day; but the sun which
shines so brightly on her beauties, declines while by the fall. Compare them with the sublime
and stupendous and the lovely objects that every
he displays them, and a few short years, and the
where meet your eye in the creation around you.
jocund step, the airy habit, the sportive manner, Can your richest purple excel the violet, or your
all must pass away with the flight of time. Be.
purest white eclipse the lily of the valley? Can
fore this happens, it would be well for her to rc-
your brightest gems outshine the glory of the
member that it is wiser to throw a shadow over
sun? Why then should enormous sums be ex-
her yet unimpaired charms, than to hold them
pended in glittering baubles and sparkling dust?
in the light till they are seen to decay.
Compare them with your books, your Bible, your
souls-all neglected for their sake! Arise at
once to correct sentiments and noble aims; make

the Bible your looking-glass, the grace of the
spirit your jewels-if you must shine, shine here;
here you may shine with advantage in the esti
mation of the wise and good-in the view and
approbation of the holy angels and the eternal
God; shine in death when the lustre of the fine
gold has become dim, and the ray of the diamond

Virgin, bridal beauty, when she arrays herself with taste, obeys an end of her creation-that of increasing her charms in the eyes of some virtuous lover, or the husband of her bosom. She is approved. But, when the wrinkled fair, the hoary-headed matron, attempts to equip herself for conquest, to awaken sentiments which, the bloom on her cheek gone, her rouge can never arouse; then, we cannot but deride her folly, or in pity, counsel her rather to seek for charms, in the mental graces of Madame de Sevigne, than the meretricious arts of Ninon de l'Enclos. The secret of preserving beauty lies in three thin gs-Temperance, Exercise, Cleanliness.

ADVICE TO LADIES.

Ladies, always delightful, and not the least so in their undress, are apt to deprive themselves of some of their best morning beams by appearing with their hair in papers. We give notice that essayists, and of course all people of taste, prefer a cap, if there must be any thing; but hair a million times over. To see grapes in paper bags Nature having maintained a harmony between is bad enough, but the rich locks of a lady in pa. the figure of woman and her years, it is decorous pers, the roots of the hair twisted up like a drumthat the consistency should extend to the materi-mer's, and the forehead staring bald instead of being gracefully tendrilled and shadowed!-it is a capital offence-a defiance to the love and admiration of the other sex-a provocative to a paper war; and we here accordingly declare the said war on paper, not having ladies at hand to carry it at once into their head quarters.We must allow at the same time that they are very shy of being seen in this condition, knowing well enough how much of their strength, like Sampson's, lies in that gifted ornament. We have known a whole parlor of them fluttered off, like a dove cote, at the sight of a friend coming the garden.

als and fashion of her apparel. For youth to dress like age, is an instance of bad taste seldom But age affecting the airy garments of youth, the transparent Drapery of Cos, and the sportiveness of a girl, is an anachronism as frequent as it is ridiculous.

seen.

up

LEIGH HUNT.

BIOGRAPHY.

seriousness. Middle age has the privilege of pre-extinguished; shine in the celestial hemisphere Urbino to Venice, where he was sent to the Uni

with saints and seraphs, amid the splendor of the

Eternal.

versity of Padua, for the purpose of preparing him for the profession of the law. But all views of this kind wore abandoned by the young poet. Irstead of perusing Justinian, he spent his time in writing verscs; and the result was the publica. tion of Rinaldo before he had completed his eighteenth year. We cannot here trace minute. ly the remaining progress of his shifting and agitated history. His literary industry in the

midst of almost ceaseless distractions of all kinds Geruwas most extraordinary. His great poem, salemme Liberata, (Jerusalem Delivered,) is said to have been begun in his nineteenth year. In 1565, he first visited the court of Ferrara, hav. ing been carried thither by the Cardinal Luigi d'Este, the brother of the reigning Duke Alphonso. This event gave a color to Tasso's future existence. It has been supposed that the young poet allowed himself to form an attachment to the princess Leonora, one of the two sisters of the reigning Duke, and the object of his aspiring love was not insensible to that union of eminent personal graces with the fascinations of genius which courted her regard. But there hangs a mystery over the story which has never been cleared away. He remained at Ferraro till the completion and publication of his cele. brated epic in 1575. He had already given to the world his beautiful pastoral drama, the A. minta, the next best known and most esteemed of his productions.

TASSO.

This distinguished Italian poet was born on the 11th March, 1544, at Sorrento, near Naples. His father, Bernardo Tasso, was also a scholar and poet of considerable repute. The life of Tas. so, almost from its commencement, was a troubled romance. His infancy was distinguished for extraordinary precocity; but he was a mere child when political events determined his father to leave Naples, and separating himself from his family, took up his abode at Rome. Hither Tor. quato Tasso, when only eleven years of age, was

CORSETS.

While thousands fall by clashing swords
Ten thousands fall by corset boards,
Yet giddy females, thoughtless train,
Forsake of fashion yield to pain;
And health and comfort sacrifice
To please a dandy coxcomb's eyes.

"Forth from a mother's fostering breast Fate plucks me in my helpless years: With sighs I look back on her tears, Bathing the lips her kisses prest; Alas! her pure and ardent prayers The fugitive breeze now idly bears: No longer breathe we face to face, Gather'd in knot-like close embrace; Like young Ascanlus or Camell, my feet Unstable, seek a wandering sire's retreat." He never again saw his mother; she died about eighteen months after he had left her. After a residence of two years at Rome, circumstances occurred which divided him from his father.Bernardo proceeded to Urbino, and sent his son to Bergamo, in the north of Italy; but his favorable reception at the court of the Duke of Urbino, induced him to send for Torquato, whose beauty of person and mental accomplish. ments so pleased the Duke, that he appointed him the companion of his own son in his studies. Political changes drew Bernardo and his son from

From this period his life becomes a long course of storm and darkness, rarely relieved even by a fitful gleam of light. For several