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No. 2.

PHILADELPHIA, THURSDAY, JANUARY 14,

THE LITERARY PORT FOLIO Is published every Thursday by E. Littell & Brother, and on this day it is punctually delivered to subscribers in Philadelphia and New York, and sent off by mail to subscribers in the country.

It contains eight printed pages in each number, and four handsome engravings every year. The price is Two Dollars and a Half a year, payable in advance.

It is intended that this journal shall contain such a variety of matter as may make it acceptable to ladies as well as to gentlemen; to the young as well as to the old. While we shall take care that nothing be admitted which would render the work unfit for any of these classes, we shall endeavour to procure for it sufficient ability to entitle it to the attention of all of them. To these ends we have secured an abundant supply of all foreign and domestic journals and new books-and we ask the assistance of all who are qualified to instruct or amuse the public. Upon this assistance we depend in a great degree for our hopes of success, for however the abundant stores to which we have access, may enable us to supply matter highly interesting to our readers, we think it of even more importance to give them something peculiarly adapted to the present time and circumstances; something from home.

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"Meerza Yakooh, an Armenian of Erivan, and eunuch, the steward of the whole of the king's harem, who had for many years enjoyed confidence and consideration, having taken with him jewels and cash to a large amount, went to the house of the envoy shortly after his arrival at Tehran. The shah relinquished to the envoy all claims to Meerza Yakoob, but directed that the property which he had carried off should be restored. The envoy replied that it was necessary to have the matter decided by law. The ministers consented to this; but Meerza Yakoob, confiding in the protection of the envoy, uttered abusive things of the law of the prophet and the faith of Islam, vilified the chiefs of the priesthood, rididuled the Persian government, and cursed the Persian people; so that the inhabitants of Tehran of all classes were irritated and unable to endure it. While matters were in this state, two women of the Armenians of Turkey were in the house of Allah Yar Khan (late Asufedhowleh); the spies of the envoy gave him information of this circumstance, and deceived him into the belief that these were two captives from Georgia and Karabaugh. The envoy in consequence demanded them; Allah Yar Khan replied that they were from Turkey,

Communications should be addressed to “E. Littel! for the Literary Port Folio,"-and subscriptions will be thankfully received by E. Littell & Brother, corner of Chestnut and Seventh streets, Philadelphia. Subscriptions are also received by Thomas C. Clarke, and had no connexion with Russia; but the

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The publishers find on the list of the former volume, many newspapers marked for exchange; but as these papers cannot be used for the Port Folio, they hope that the offer of the work at half price will be considered equally advantageous to the country papers, and that

envoy would not believe this, and became urgent and violent. The king ordered Allah Yar Khan to send the women, with a man of his own, to the envoy's house, that he might question them, and ascertain from themselves that they were not Russian captives. Allah Yar Khan, according to his orders sent them; but the envoy sent back the man and detained the women.

"It is well known that, according to Persian

they will be excused for now ceasing to send the Literary custom, a woman cannot remain in the house

Port Folio to all who do not order it.

Payment in advance is expected from every subscriber.

PERSIA. THE LATE AFFRAY AT TEHRAN.

THE following is published in the Bombay Courier of May 16, as an extract of a letter from Meerza Allee Shah to his Royal Highness Prince Abbas Meerza.

of a stranger, and that her doing so is injurious to her reputation; moreover, on that night Meerza Yakoob had a drinking party, and the envoy's people had brought a prostitute from the town. The two women who were in the house, seeing these proceedings, began to complain, and the populace became agitated till morning, when some persons went to get back the women, but they were not given up. First there was a quarrel between the persons who "My orders leaving me no alternative, I went for the women and the subah of the entake the liberty to represent that the Russian voy's guard. Then people collected on both envoy, from the day of his arrival in the capi- sides. The envoy's people attacked the others, tal, received from the king the greatest atten- and with guns and pistols shot some of the tion and consideration. The ministers of the town people; the relations of those who were state, too, were night and day engaged in seek-killed joined in the fray, and a general tumult ing occasions to do what was agreeable to him, and so to conduct themselves towards him that

and commotion was excited. When information of these proceedings was conveyed to the king, his majesty despatched me and his royal highness Imaum Wardee Meerza, the commander of the guards, with 2,000 or 3,000 men of the guards of the palace and the garrison of the citadel of the subah of Key. We proceeded with all possible expedition, punishing the people and driving them before us: but before we reached the house of the envoy all was over, and all that should not have been done was done.

his time might pass most pleasantly, and that he might return from hence with all honour. Many things which occurred were, for his sake, passed over; for example, two Armenians of Tehran killed a Mahomedan, and sought refuge in the house of the envoy, who entreated for them. The king pardoned them, and satisfied the heir of the Mahomedan. But an Armenian, named Roostom, who had from his infancy been a slave in Persia, and was known to be a bad character, and some others "This much was effected, that the first selike him, having accompanied the envoy, were cretary with three other individuals were resemployed by him as guides and persons to cued in safety; all the other persons who were point out the way to him (by implication spies in the house were destroyed. Even the shah's and advisors): the conduct of these persons feroshes, who were stationed in the house, and became offensive and intolerable to the people; the subah of the guards who resisted the poputhey stirred up the envoy to resort to acts lace, several were killed; of the persons who which were calculated to produce a bad feel- accompanied me about thirty or forty were ing, and were at variance with the respect due wounded. I would that they had all been to the government. For instance, a kujer, of slain, could it have prevented such a catasthe royal branch of the tribe, who has an affec- trophe. I swear before God, by the salt of the tion of the head which makes him speak fool-king, that I would rather have died, I would

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1830.

rather have been put to death with all my children, than endure this shame. I know not what condition you will be in when this letter reaches you.

"His majesty commands me to state, that the revolutions of heaven have brought about this event; that we are here offering every apology to the secretary, and that you will do every thing in your power with the English envoy and the Russian authorities at Tabreez; you will send a person to Tiflis to present the true state of the case. Although the whole Persian nation feel shame before the Russian government for this occurrence, still the innocence of our servants must be made known. Whatever atonement you may think due, will be readily made."

Extract from a Firman addressed by his Majesty the Shah to Prince Abbas Meerza. "The bodies of those who were killed have been buried with every mark of respect and honour. The secretary and other survivors have been treated with all kindness, and in the meantime orders have been issued for the punishment of the perpetrators of this deed, and they shall be punished. We wait for advice from our son, in concert with Mr. Ambaugher, to complete the atonement.

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In the course of two days the secretary, with Meerza Allikhan, our reply to the emperor's letter, with a statement of all events, shall be sent to General Paskevitch: they were present and saw the state of affairs. The secretary will best be able to give a true account of the matter; and in the meantime we expect from our son advice regarding the measures to be adopted to remove this stain from our reputation."

ENGLISH ANNUALS.

1. Friendship's Offering: a Literary Album, and Christmas and New Year's Present, for 1830.

2. The Literary Souvenir; or, Cabinet of Poetry and Romance. Edited by Alaric A. Watts. 3. The Iris; a Literary and Religious Offering. Edited by the Rev. Thomas Dale, M.A. 4. The Winter's Wreath for 1830; a Collection of Original Contributions in Prose and Verse.

5. Forget-Me-Not; a Christmas, New Year's, and Birth-day Present for 1830. 6. The Amulet; a Christian and Literary Remembrancer. Edited by S. C. Hall.

7. The Juvenile Keepsake. Edited by Thomas Roscoe.

8. The Juvenile Forget-Me-Not; a Christmas and New Year's Gift, or Birth-day Present for the year 1830. Edited by Mrs. S. C. Hall.

9. Ackerman's Forget-Me-Not; a Christmas, New Year's, and Birth-day Present, for youth of both sexes, for 1830. Edited by Frederic Shoberl.

10. The New Year's Gift and Juvenile Sourenir. Edited by Mrs. Alaric Watis.

It is an essential part of a critic's duty to point out the difference between what is clegant, and what is fantastic-between the of forts of a bad and tawdry taste, and the productions of a light, but pure and cultivated ingenuity-the difference, in short, between the despicable pretensions to produce a fashionable literature by modern novelists, and the elegant luxury of good taste exhibited in the beautiful little volumes before us. We cannot conceive of an objection to the universal circulation of these interesting works, but there are many, and those very solid, arguments in its favour. It is one of the most difficult things in the world to pro

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PHILADELPHIA PORT FOLIO: A WEEKLY JOURNAL

exist beyond a doubt in the Annuals of the pre-jected to so severe a probation, still remains
sent year.

duce a popular love of the fine arts; to give it | shrinking consciences of Messrs. Watts, &c.,
a right direction, and to feed it only with what
is excellent, is still more difficult. We take it
for granted, at present, that the humanising
effects of such a passion, properly nourished, is
admitted, and with this supposition, the An-
nuals present themselves before us as the best
accomplished ministers of taste, and of the
good feelings belonging to it, which the lighter
class of modern literature has ever possessed.
They fly through every quarter of the land,
loaded with song and beauty. The fair inha-
bitant of the loneliest hamlet receives from
them an idea of the power which can give form
and multiplied existence to gentle thoughts
and images; and the gay population of provin-
cial towns are gradually taught that art has a
diviner power than that exhibited either by
their drawing masters or their milliners. It is
next to impossible that any one should have
looked at the engravings of these volumes, and
endure any thing common or vulgar for the
remainder of the year. The more they are
Correcter
eirculated, therefore, the better.

We do not say the above in the spirit of a
carping criticism, but out of pure love for the
beautiful and costly little works which they
produce. Nor do we say it in the affectation
of any contempt for the light and sparkling
kind of literature which distinguishes them,
for we have met with both prose and poetry in
the Annuals, which it would be the most con-
temptible folly in the world to pretend to des-
pise. They have become, in fact, the vehicle
for a class of compositions which was other-
wise sinking into unmerited neglect, and which
we really could not spare from our general li-
terature, without depriving it of one of the
qualities which makes it fit to nourish minds
of all characters, and give life and impulse to
all the feelings which it is good for man's heart
to cherish. We can no better spare the minor
poetry, as it is called, of the day, than we can
spare the brooks and rivulets which, without
ever becoming rivers, delight us, by making
the hills green, and the valleys and meadows
fertile. There is nothing more likely to awaken
kindly feelings, to sooth angry or rankling
ones, than the voice of poetry,-of quiet and
tranquillizing poetry-drawing its sweetness
from the home-rest of the heart, and its pure,
universal language, from the teachings of a
spirit-a spirit of delight and love, that has
found one vehicle for its revelations in poetry,
and, if it could find a thousand others, would
charm and subdne us to its power a thousand
times more. We deprecate, therefore, any
mixture of weak or indifferent verses in the
matter of these elegant publications; but we
should doubt of the good taste or reason of any
one who regarded their general contents as not
meriting considerable attention,-all the atten-
tion indeed, and that is not a slight one,
which ought to be paid to a class of writing
which, more than any other, feeds the mind
with sentiment, and the heart with passion. It
is hardly necessary to say any thing regarding
It is not in theory merely that these beauti
the prose part of these works, as it partakes so
ful annual volumes deserve this praise, nor is
it a matter of surprise that they eminently pos- closely of the same taste and tone of feeling as
the poetry. It may, perhaps, however, be
sess the qualities which obtain it. The im-
mense sums which the proprietors expend upon worth remarking, that, in this respect, the ac-
the embellishments, place the spirited pub-complished editors have not exercised their
lishers among the best patrons of modern art,
and the editors have the good taste to second
their liberality. Mr. Alaric Watts, and Mr.
Hall, are both of them well known to possess
the most cultivated judgment in the fine arts,
and to employ a considerable part of their
time in searching the most valuable collec-
tions. Much of the same ability is discernible
among the other conductors of the Annuals,
and they are thus rendered that which we
have said them to be-admirable means for
diffusing throughout the country a strong and
chastened passion for whatever is most beauti-
ful in human art.

ideas will every day gain ground respecting
what is worthy of admiration in the fine arts.
The inhabitants of the provinces will have
something to console them for the want of ex-
hibitions and rare collections, and the daugh-
ters of tradesmen and manufacturers, who
visit neither London nor Italy, will not want
the means of forming a good taste, the best and
most valuable adornment, next to the moral
Let no one henceforth then
ones, of woman.
be without these jewel-cabinets of art. They
may inspire the austerest heart with thoughts
that it will be luxury for it to feel at least
once in a year, and for all that are young and
hopeful of delight, or old and happy, or who
would see pleasure and gentle feelings kept
alive by the purest means, they are the Offer-
ings, and Souvenirs, and Amulets which they
may best give as tokens of their friendship, or
keep as safeguards against all the evil spirits
of inhumanity or moroseness.

What we have said in respect to the embellishments of the Annuals, will, in a great measure, apply to their literary contents, and would entirely so, if the taste of the editors had only to will and to possess, or, if they would no more let their good nature induce them to admit a page of bad poetry, than an indifferent engraving. We confess we do not know what explanation those gentlemen could give for the appearance of some of the pieces which serve to fill their volumes. Most of them have well earned the confidence of the public by productions of their own, which puts it beyond a doubt, that there is no film on their eyes in judging of poetry; and yet we find more than one piece in their collections which, we are sure, if they occupied our place, would meet with no very gentle treatment at their hands. When this fault is committed to make way for a great name, as it frequently is, and we fear must be, we will admit the plea of necessity or policy, but no such excuse can be made for the admission of verses which have neither merit nor a popular name to recommend them. And such, we appeal for the proof to the

judgments to the best. A hardier, bolder, and
more vigorous kind of prose than that which
composes the major part of their volumes,
would not only contrast better with the deli-
cacy, and an exquisite delicacy it is, of the
poetry, but give room to a more earnest vein
of thought, to a bolder and more elevated
range through the bright, but mysterious
world of humanity. We would have all the
poetry only so many gushing streams of golden
light, all murmuring of love, or a sweet and
tender melancholy; but we would feel the
breath of a lofty spirit in the prose. We would
see the fair faces, that were beaming with
smiles as we read one of the lovely little lays
that abound in these volumes, assume an ex-
pression of deeper, more mind-entranced inte-
rest, when we come to the prose; we would
have them look as if they felt that they were
in the presence of beings that were bright,
beautiful, and mighty in the strength of
thought. We know that much patience and
exertion are necessary, to give any thing like
the merit to these publications which they
possess in so high a degree, but we think it
not impossible that their interest and value
might be improved, by the prose part of their
contents being thus of a somewhat severer cha-

racter.

From the Bijou.

LONG ENGAGEMENTS.
THE question as to the propriety of suffering
young persons to enter into long engagements,
and the doubt whether, if the lovers eventual-
ly marry, their lives will be equally happy

with those whose affections have not been sub-
doubtful even to those who ought to be the
most competent to decide-parents and guar-
dians.

There are certainly many instances where
these trials have ended satisfactorily; but there
are also numerous cases in which, when cir-
cumstances have permitted the parties to
marry, the fulfilment of the engagement has
been produced much more by the man's sense
of honour, so that she, who consecrated the
summer of her charms to him alone, should not
be deserted in her autumn, than from the ar-
dency of that pure and disinterested passion
which gave birth to his attachment. Who-
ever has a child of an age to marry, ought to
be wise enough to know, that the effect which
a train of outward circumstances has on the
formation of the character, is of more impor-
tance than the events themselves are. To
have a girl forsaken, or unwillingly received,
after she has devoted the brightest portion of
her days to a faithless or a fickle-minded man,
of the woman, who possesses a sound judg-
undoubtedly is trying; yet it is in the power
ment and a well regulated mind, so to act and
think that she may be prepared for any change.
Though the heroine of the following tale was
not subjected to the bitterest of all human suf-
ferings, that of witnessing

-changed affection's
Cold averted eye,"

still, as she calculated upon the possibility of
finding her hopes blasted, the mental disci-
pline which she voluntarily underwent would,
it is almost certain, have enabled her to bear
her fate in a manner as honourable to herself
as consoling to her parents; and deserves com-
memoration, as an example.

Several years ago, during a visit which I
paid to a friend in the south-west of England,
became acquainted with a village called the
Hatch. My Mary was then fifteen. In spite
of my care she was growing thin and pale.
was a jest among my friends for my passion
for making her robustly healthy, incited there-
to by regard for public good as well as mater-
nal fondness; being desirous of proving that
an only child, and she, too, the daughter of a
widow, is not necessarily doomed to be sickly
and feeble.

The situation of the Hatch, which is such that it cannot be easily got at in a carriage, did not frighten me. The freshness and purity of the air of the high downs, which stretch out for miles just above it, made me ample compensation for this disadvantage. Over the breezy top of these bare hills I resolved to let Mary scamper on her pony every day, in defiance of wind and of weather; unless the first were such as to blow her off her horse, or the latter to half drown her.

On very windy days we were compelled to relinquish the soft carpet, and the wide views of the downs for the road which wound round their bases. A good sized, well built house, at a little distance from this road attracted our attention, or rather, I should say, that the profusion of gay flowers which grew about it did so. The contrast which this decorated spot offered to the close turf of the downs, and the rough graces of our present residence, caused She took so much delight in looking at the it to make the greater impression upon Mary. mass of brilliant hues collected in this garden, that I think she sometimes proposed our taking this road only for the sake of seeing them.

Once or twice we saw the children of the family amusing themselves in this garden, but more frequently heard their merry tongues, and caught glimpses of their agile forms in the back grounds, flitting across the door-way which was opposite to that in the front of the house. Independently of all personal considerations the sight of a happy and a healthy famsome little share in exciting the attention ily is delightful; and private interest also had which, at that time I always bestowed upon it.

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The most curious florist could hardly have been so anxious to inquire by what "mixture of earth's mould" the flowers of this garden had been made so vivid and luxuriant, as I was to ascertain by what management the firmness of muscle, smoothness, clearness, and freshness of skin, which indicate permanent health, were maintained or procured, whenever I observed them. The animated blossoms which I saw about this house exhibited, in a remarkable degree, the sprightliness, elasticity, and strength, which denote a well organized body in good condition. I was, therefore, disposed to form an acquaintance with the owners of the place, and this was easily done by means of the friends through whom I became a temporary inhabitant of that part of the country.

Mr. and Mrs. Long, the possessors of these bright flowers and blooming children, no sooner heard who the two ladies were whom they had observed to stay their steeds" for the purpose of gazing on their brilliant borders, were, and at what place they might be found, than, with true country hospitality, they came to the Hatch, to offer us every attention in their power.

As I was most happy to procure for my dear girl a frequent participation of the gaiety enjoyed by the younger members of the house, and grateful for the innumerable kindnesses which we received from the elders, we soon became familiar with the inhabitants of LowLect, as Mr. Long called his comfortable mansion. Mary and I were never better pleased than when our visits were spent in the garden: there she amused herself with the young group, while I paced up and down in grave discussion with the seniors.

One sultry evening we called there about sunset, and were ushered into the grounds at the back of the house. This was the spot more particularly appropriated to the children's sports, and the care of its flowers was committed to them chiefly. A belt of shrubs divided it from the fruit and kitchen gardens. In the centre of this belt was a reservoir, erected after a model of Mr. Long's own devising, who amused the ample leisure of his retirement by several similar contrivances. On this evening they had cooled the very air by their liberal distribution of its contents, and were bringing their sportive labour to a close when another visiter introduced himself, unannounced, into the garden. Laura stepped forward, and as she raised her eyes she perceived the person who had joined the party. She did not recollect having seen him before, but so much cordiality and affection were mingled with the pleasure with which he was looking at the domestic scene, that slie felt instantly persuaded that he was entitled to be there. The stranger came forward the moment he was perceived, and Laura, renouncing her intention to run off in the contrary direction to call her mother, composed herself as quickly as she could, and went to meet him. He accounted for his intrusion by saying, he had heard that he should find his uncle and aunt, with their family in the garden. Throwing off instantly her timidity, and holding out her hand, while she cast back her head to catch a full view of his countenance, “O, I was sure that I ought to know you!" said Laura, papa and mama will be both of them so glad! How came I not to guess it was you, cousin Lawrence? but we did not know that you were landed yet."

"Those who were older than you were when I left England, might well be excused for not immediately knowing me again," answered he;" and if I had met you any where but here, I should not have known that I was privileged to greet you as my cousin-my cousin Laura, is it not? Yet I can hardly believe it." He examined her earnestly as he spoke, endeavouring to make out in the animated girl before him, the chubby child whom he remembered as his eldest cousin. Laura had now attained the height of a woman of the middle size. Her form was admirably

constructed, and the glow of her complexion and the radiance of her eyes were calculated to do any thing rather than suggest the idea of a pale, unripened beauty of the north," to the late sojourner among the black charmers of the burning east. Lawrence looked on her with a wondering delight which did not escape my observation. This first impression was followed by effects which are far from always succeeding such beginnings. The cousins fell in love after the good old way, that is, provided the old way were the good one; at any rate they did so in the best way, the gentleman's lively, fervent admiration exciting the fair lady's gratitude. The parents did not think of the thing till it was done; and then they, the father especially, took it patiently. But Lawrence was obliged to return to India, and they would not consent to an immediate marriage on account of Laura's extreme youth, and her lover's unsettled condition. The young people were, however, permitted to pledge their faith to one another; and were to marry as soon after Laura had completed her seventeenth year as circumstances would permit. The effects of this engagement upon Laura are worth noting. She was at this time not more than fifteen. While Lawrence was with her she continued to enjoy herself as she had done, without pausing to reflect on her new emotions or their cause, or appearing to advert to the time, so near at hand, when he must leave her; and was still, in short, a happy, thoughtless child; but a striking change appeared when he was gone. To herself it seemed as if a length of years had passed over her since the evening when her cousin surprised her in the grounds; while, to her neighbours, the change in her appeared so sudden, that it looked as if she had been struck by a fairy's wand. Her brother and sisters were her playfellows no longer; an immeasurable space seemed now to divide her thoughts and counsels from those of Emily, the girl next her in age. All things around her lost, in a great measure, their interest. Laura, indeed, lived only for the absent: and as Lawrence frequently besought her in his letters to guard well the treasure of beauty and health which he had left behind him, she desired to keep her beauty uninjured. But Laura seemed not only desirous to preserve herself for her lover, but to do so, so sacredly for him alone, that she begrudged a sight of her good looks to all but their right owner; resembling the image used by Solomon, “a fountain sealed up is my sister, my spouse."

Two years passed on, and Lawrence did not return; nor could he even yet fix a term for returning. Laura's nicely hoarded beauty was still unimpaired, even in her own jealously scrutinizing eyes. But would it be possible much longer to preserve it? Laura much feared that it would not. Her attachment to Lawrence had sensibly increased by her entire selfdedication to him; she felt it impossible to detach herself from him now; but, after being the object of his ardent love, to be only endured as a person he was bound to, was too insupportable a misery to be thought of. What was to be done? She must release her cousin. With the utmost sincerity she told him of her fears, and artlessly betrayed to him her devotion and her fondness, whilst she earnestly conjured him rather to give her up, than reluctantly to fulfil his engagement at the time of his return, if, when that came, he should find her appearance changed so as to disappoint him. The depth of her feelings made her letter grave, convincing, and pathetic: Lawrence was considerably affected by it, and perceived that she was in earnest. It gave him some trouble to fashion his reply; but the next packet brought to her this answer :

"Would to Heaven, my sweet girl, I could see you, were it only for one hour, if indeed, there is danger of your changing. To think that I may never see you more, such as you were at that memorable time when you taught me how beautiful your sex can be, is, I con

6

fess it, very painful to me. I wish I could convey to you the whole of my feelings and my thoughts, as I read every line of your letter, but I am afraid that is not possible; and if I write some of them, without the rest, I shall do myself injustice. Interpret my words then kindly, dearest Laura; believe it, I am obliged to omit the assurances of much more admiration and delight than I express. Do not then be hurt, my own dear girl, when I confess how much I am, or rather was, shocked at the idea of the change which may take place in your appearance before I shall see you again, when it was first distinctly brought before me. I cannot but cling to the image of my dazzling love, my blooming healthful Hebe. Has that bright vision vanished from the earth? You speak of changing-and I see you changedunquestionably you are so. Such a letter as that which you have written to me could not have been penned by that only just no longer child, who ravished my eyes at my entrance to my uncle's. It is in vain to regret it. I would leave off fooling, and answer your letter, as it should be answered, rationally, truly. I say then, that I will not give you back your faith, unless my uncle formally requires me to do so solely for your advantage; and then I should most reluctantly release you; though I have learned from you to be aware that she who will hereafter honour me with her hand will not, in exterior attractions, be the same girl who pledged hers to me two long summers since. But why do I say in exterior qualities, you will, dear Laura, be more changed within; and start not when I add, so I would have it. You were perfect altogether, for your age, when last we met and parted:-would time stand still, or run a backward course, in nothing sweetest, could I wish you altered; but girlish manners, with a wo man's face, were always my aversion. Never shall I thank you sufficiently, dear girl, for your care to preserve your precious charms for me unaltered. If fate had permitted me to call you mine, at the instant when first I desired it, I should have been less your debtor. Your loveliness would then, in some degree, have shone for the indifferent and the stranger, as well as blessed him who was its lawful ford. Without denying then, that your young beauty was of sovereign weight in making mo so urgent with my uncle to bestow you on me, I assure you, on my honour, that knowing you now as I do, if at this instant we were disengaged, I would, with delight, renew the contract; and feel confident that, should I be compelled to delay the fulfilment of my wishes for yet many years, my cousin Laura, such as she then will be, will do more than merely not offend my taste-she will be still the object of my choice, supposing me at liberty to choose. Besides being an elegant, superior, noble-minded woman, she will also be one who has taught herself to think so much of me, to study my honour, my interest, my taste, and to conform herself to it, will be enough to make me desire her for the partner of my future life, in preference, even, to such another glowing Hebe as herself, if such another could be found, when I first saw her in her pride of youth. In this declaration I have studiously refrained from carrying my professions to the height to which, without exaggeration, I could let them run. Let me beseech you then, my only love, to dismiss for ever all your fears and scruples, and look on yourself still as my own property. Death only can part us, unless by your desire. I will never release you. (To be concluded )

A THOUGHT OF THE FUTURE. BY FELICIA HEMANS. DREAMER! and wouldst thou know If Love goes with us to the viewless bourne? Wouldst thou bear hence th' unfathom'd source of woe

In thy heart's lonely urn?

What hath it been to thee,

That Power, the dweller of thy secret breast?
A Dove sent forth across a stormy sea,
Finding no place of rest:

A precious odour cast

On a wild streain, that recklessly swept by;
A voice of music utter'd to the blast,
And winning no reply.

Even were such answer thine,
Wouldst thou be blest?-too sleepless, too pro-
found,

Are thy soul's hidden springs; there is no line
Their depth of Love to sound.

Do not words faint and fail,

When thou wouldst fill them with that ocean's power?

Asthine own cheek before high thoughts grows pale

In some o'erwhelming hour?

Doth not thy frail form sink,
Beneath the chain that binds thee to one spot,
When thy heart strives, held down by many a
link,

Where thy beloved are not?

Is not thy very soul

Oft in the gush of powerless blessing shed,
Till a vain tenderness, beyond control,
Bows down thy weary head?

And wouldst thou bear all this,
The burden and the shadow of thy life,
To trouble the blue skies of cloudless bliss,
With earthly feeling's strife?

Not thus, not thus-oh no!

Not veil'd and mantled with din clouds of care,
That spirit of my soul should with me go,
To breathe celestial air:

But as the sky-lark springs
To its own sphere, where night afar is driven,
As to its place the flower-seed findeth wings,
So must Love mount to heaven!

Vainly it shall not strive

There on weak words to pour a stream of fire; Thought unto thought shall kindling impulse give,

As light might wake a lyre.

And oh! its blessing there
Shower'd like rich balsam forth on some dear
head,

Powerless no more, a gift shall surely bear,
A joy of sunlight shed!

Let me then, let me dream
That Love goes with us to the shore unknown;
So o'er its burning tears a heavenly gleam
In mercy shall be thrown!

LITERATURE vs. FASHION.

however, in the view of these worthies, is only
centered in a select number of club-loungers,
non-descripts, and boudoir-princesses, whose
hosen' are of the true etherial blue-and
these in a body condescend to direct the taste
of the town, and the bibliopoles are well satis-
fied to gratify that taste by religiously follow-
ing the directions given. So that the issue
proves that literature has fallen upon evil and
disgraceful days; for whereas, formerly, it led
forth triumplantly,-now it is itself led forth like
a base, silent and dejected sycophant, by the
World of Fashion.-Is there a disturbance in
Ireland?-half a dozen series of tales are im-
mediately manipulated, in order to describe
of what atrocities the unbreeched kernes of
the "Ocean Emerald" are capable. Does the
Arctic despot muster his legions against the
Antarctic Sublimity?-a dozen octavos and
quartos, with appropriate embellishments, are
instantaneously launched forth, wherein are
narrated most wondrous feats of those

"Cannibals that each other eat,
Those anthropophagi, and the men, whose
heads

Do grow beneath their shoulders!"

In these volumes, antiquities, which deserve
folios, are dexterously settled in some half-
score pages; history is comprised in a passing
line, and philosophy and morals in a tripping
and witty observation: while the works prin-
cipally consist of anecdotes, which, to use the
shop phrase, give a piquancy to their contents,
and set the appetite on edge;-such anecdotes,
however, being all the while drawn from the
source of that common fame, which in homely
parlance, has been aptly called a common liar.
But to continue our line of remark. Does a
noted tailor, or dress-maker open a magazine
of wares in our metropolis?-out pounces a vo-
lume panegyrical of fop life, in which descrip-
tions of attire are canvassed and culled from
the pages of Ackermann's Repository, or the
Parisian "Journal des Modes:" or is a new
club-house opened ?-out springs before the
public a concoction wherein the whole true
and particular account of hell-life is noted down
for the benefit of the uninitiated and future
blacklegs; or does an Artiste Cuisinier gain
celebrity by the impertinence of his personal
deportment, or the apt exercise of his metier,
or his profession, as he euphystically terms it?
-forth issues a novel of extravagant length,
in which the hero is eternally dealing in stale
jokes, stolen from the really witty books which
our Gallican neighbours have been pleased to
give on the important administration of the
kitchen. Yet the surface of all the above mat-
ters is skimmed with the nicety of the summer
swallow, lest, haply, they should be exhausted,
and a drought ensuing, should prove fatal to
the hopes of the trifle-agriculturists of the bib-
liopolistic calling.

and Scandal-Stock. The still small cloud has already risen, and is now visibly collecting its scattered energies which will set the heavens in a ferment, and sweep the earth of all uncleanliness with the rushing and resistless fury of a deluge. Not that things impure will not at some future period again crawl into existence, but our hearts will, for a time at least, be gladdened with the sight of the newly awakened verdure and luxuriance of the woods and fields.

WALTER ERRICK.

(Concluded from page 6.)

How those few words rang in my brain for long weary years! Well, we set sail on as fair and still a night as ever shone in the moonlight; and James was in high spirits, and laughed and talked incessantly; but there was a weight on my heart nothing could take away. At length it seemed all of a sudden to strike him that I was not the same as I had been; and, after a short silence, which was only broken by a heavy sigh which burst from me, he said, Walter, you are unhappy: don't let there be secrets between brothers, but tell me what ails you.' It wasn't the words he said, but something in his manner, and the kind tone of his voice, that stole upon me, and I all at once resolved that I would tell him all-my love and my struggles, and so save myself from being at the wedding, and sail away for a time till they were settled: and some feeling of making a sacrifice, and being pitied and loved by both, came across me; and I felt that I should be happier afterwards. And I spoke long and sorrowfully: I told him what I had never breathed before, not even to Mary. I described my feelings through the four past years,-how I had thought of her when I was absent, and loved her when present; and how she had been the one hope of my life, looked forward to in storm and in sunshine, in calm and in danger; and with a breaking and a bursting heart I confessed that I had believed her affections were mine, that I had mistaken the love of a sister for the passionate affection I bore her, and that I had never thought it possible, even for an instant, that she could become the wife of another. And then I paused and looked out, far out, over the waste of waters, with the tears swelling and choking in my throat. And James answered a very few words spoken lightly and in jest: he rallied me on my blindness, and, finally, as he repeated my last words about the impossibility of Mary preferring any one to me, he gave way to hearty and uncontrolled laughter. God forgive me! but I do believe if it had not been for that, I should not be the miserable wretch I That laugh rang through my brain and maddened me. I could have borne reproaches, angry words, or even coldness and jealousy; but to be laughed at in my agony!-my blood boiled; my hand trembled; and I looked at James with my teeth set together. He still laughed on-I struck but one blow with the boat-hook-the echo of that laugh died away upon the water. There was a plash, a moan,

am.

But, thanks be to Heaven, the stomachs of all men are not of vitiated and pudding-loving appetites. There are those who love whole some food, though it be difficult of attainment. We have lately read in the newspapers that the officers of the Lord Mayor have been busy. ing themselves most laudably in purifying the butcher's shambles, in the civic markets, of all a faint call upon my name; and I sat the one the corrupted flesh and poisonous offals which living thing in that boat on the lonely seahad been atrociously exposed for public sale. alone, in the depth and darkness of night! Oh Could officers be appointed for the purification God! Oh God! what would I have given to of the shop-boards of our literature-venders, have heard that voice again, though it were in the intellectual health of the British population execration and taunts for evermore! I thought would be materially benefited, and the measure it was impossible one instant could have would be one of unqualified utility. It would finished all-one blow destroyed so much of be worth twenty such police bills as the saga-life, vigour, and beauty. I called 'James! cious Home Secretary has been pleased to spin and manufacture for the home consump

It is the certain indication of a weak mind to suppose that any subject can be exhausted. Magazine-critics, indeed, and drivelling newspaper-mongers may arrive at that sage conclusion, and may divulge such conclusion to their as sage readers-and the sage readers may coincide in that opinion, because their heads, not being overburdened with sense, they swallow the chaff and wheat mixture, thus administered by these physicians to the mind, although perhaps aware that little or no nourishment will follow. But the physicians are pseudo-practitioners-living by an impudent exercise of their quackish legerdemain on the foolery-propensities of the public. The James! my brother! but no echo answered booksellers, too, are much afraid of exhausting me, no sound smote my ear, but the sullen subjects; they are,-say these intellect office. waves, plash-plash-against the anchored keepers and purveyors-general of table-talk and We hope indeed that the day is not far dis- boat. I looked fearfully over the side, and idleness, practical men, and must therefore tant when a change will come over the predi- to my straining eyes the ocean seemed tinged know whence cometh and whither goeth the lections and propensities of the reading Com- with blood: I drew my head back with a cold faintest breath of public opinion-from the dex-munity. When it shall arrive, it will be of shudder, and covered my face with my hands. terity with which they can toss up the trial- portent and annihilation to the schemers and And dreams passed through my burning brain straw or directing-feather. Public opinion, jobbers in the impurities of Fashionable Life-dreams of childhood and of later years: I

tion.

was on the beach with James as when we were children, sorting shells and sea-weeds; and I felt his round soft arm over my shoulder. And then I was with him and Mary, bidding farewell for my last voyage; and his bright eye glanced on mine through the darkness, and I fancied he rowed the boat along to take me back to the merchant ship. And then the morning when I had saved him came to my mind: I heard again his faint answer to my call, and prayed with yearning agony to hear that whisper once more: and then I fancied I heard that mocking laugh repeated, but it had no longer the sound of mockery; it was only as his voice I heard it-his young glad voice which I might never hear again.

mur against God, and sit mourning all the days of one's life, because it has pleased him, in his wisdom, to take away one of our blessings. So do, my Mary,' continued she earnestly, to the weeping and trembling girl, 'do take my son Walter by the hand, and promise me that you will both be one, to love and to work for one another when I am gone.' And Mary rose, sobbing bitterly; and she came and stood between my mother and me; and she placed her small thin hand in mine, and said, 'You know, Walter, that I have no love left to offer, such as I once felt; but, as my dear James's brother you are, and ever will be, the dearest thing earth contains: and if that, and the duty of a wife will content you'

"She could say no more; but, sinking on a chair, and covering her face, she gave free course to her tears. Then suddenly rising, she said, Good night! Walter, and God Almighty bless you! You are not going out tonight, and to-morrow' She left the little room; my mother followed, and I remained alone,-bewildered, stupified, horror-struck. Strange as it may seem, the possibility of such an event as my marriage with Mary had never occurred since my brother's death: now, when it did strike me, it was with loath

"I know not how I reached the land: I only remember that the sun was shining warm and bright over my head, and that Mary and my mother were standing weeping on the beach, and watching for us; and I got out of the boat and stood by them, and watched too. And they said to me, 'Is he drowned, Walter? is he dead?' and I stared, and repeated the words like a maniac. And there we sat while the waves rolled in-in silence and in sorrow. At last there was a black speck visible: it heaved over that wave and another, and yet another, and the last brought to shore the bodying, with terror, I thought of it: it gave a moof Mary's bridegroom. There he lay at my feet-my young, unoffending brother-bruised and breathless; and my hand had sent him to his last account!"

Walter Errick paused from exhaustion: his voice had become so hollow and broken, that I could scarcely distinguish the words he uttered. I waited till he seemed to have recovered a little, and then spoke of the consolations of religion. He listened patiently, but apparently with little hope; and when I paused, he continued his story in a low mournful tone.

"Two years and more had passed away, and my poor mother and Mary appeared to have recovered from the stroke of James's death. It was only now and then, when some trifling word occurred which awoke the sealed fountain of her sorrow, or when her eyes wandered to his empty place at our meals, that the latter would come and sit down by me, and murmur his name, and lay her weeping head upon my arm, and sob in uncontrollable grief. During all this time, I followed my occupation as fisherman. You will perhaps feel surprised, Sir, at my being able to endure the going out at night alone, after what had happened: but so it was, that, after the first agony of despair, I ceased to think of aught but self-preservation. It was not that I wished to live, but that I feared to die-feared it, Oh Sir! with a shuddering dread which no one can conceive who has not done a deed of blood like me! I grew a very coward; I ventured out only on the calmest nights; and often, when I had been out but a few hours, the reniembrance of that one evening would come over me, and I would pull for the land, and rush up the beach home again, pursued by insupportable terror.

"It was on a dark windy night in November, when my fears had prevented my stirring from the little room where we sate, (though knew we had scarce a meal for the next day,) that my mother, who had sat silently netting for some time, turned and addressed us. Mary was mending an old jacket; and when she heard my mother speak, she laid down her work and fixed her eyes on the withered face of the good old woman-' Mary, and you Walter, my dear children, I have been wishing to say this to you for long; but something has always tied my tongue. I feel that I am going from you-nay, do not look so mournfully upon me: I am an old woman and one who has seen sorrow-but, before I go, I do wishvery, very much-to see you both married together. Walter, my only remaining son! I am sure the love of your young heart was no other than my sweet Mary; and you, Mary, surely, there is none other left now on earth that you would love or live with more willingly than Walter and it is a sinful thing to mur

tive to the murder-it made me feel, if possible, doubly criminal. I resolved to fly and never see Mary's face again. I rushed out of the house, fled along the beach, and clambered over the rocks,-any where, so I might but flee from home. Exhausted by the struggle of contending emotions, the storm that raged without, and that within,-I sunk with my face on the sand. I lay there still-Oh! Sir, lift me up! lift me up! I am dying-Mercy! mercy!"

I turned to the bed, and raised the wretched man in my arms: after a few faint convulsive struggles, he again murmured the word "Mercy!" He made an attempt to clasp his hands in prayer; but they sank powerless by his side: his eyes fixed-he heaved a long deep sigh-and I stood by the side of the corpse of WALTER ERRICK.

OBSERVATIONS ON THE CAYMANS OR ALLIGATORS OF GUIANA.* By John Hancock, M. D. Communicated by the Author.

IN reviewing the Indian vocabulary, I find three of the crocodile kind mentioned, as follows:

1st, The Poupou of the Caribs, i. e. the Cayman or common great alligator. 2d, The Akari of the Caribs, Kykoty of the Arowaks, or common alligator.

3d, The Teriteriou of the Caribs, the largest of all. The Makusies and Akawais call it

Atokary. The Porocotos call it Tiratirema.

I may here give the names of the crocodiles of Guiana in several Indian dialects, viz.

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Attoria are only approximations to their strange sounds, which are uttered as it were entirely from the glottis, not moving the lips, with a clack of the tongue, however, which it is impossible to imitate, much less to convey on paper. They throw back the head in speaking, showing that the utterance is difficult even to themselves; and it almost gives one pain to hear them talk. They inhabit about the southern branches of the Essequibo, where the Teriteri-ou are said to be most common. This accounts for the Ackawai and other tribes having borrowed their names for the animal.

The Mandavacas live on the Rio Negro and Cassiquiari or Casicari. It is singular that there are no large species of crocodile inhabiting those rivers, although the alligator is numerous there. They have not even a name for any other species. Mr. Humboldt must have been strangely misinformed, when he speaks of the dangerous and ferocious crocodiles of the Cassiquiari; no species but the inoffensive alligator inhabiting there. This exception is the more extraordinary, as most of the other great rivers of Guiana, so far as I know, abound with the Cayman. Perhaps it may be owing to the porpesses which are numerous in the Cassiquiari and the Rio Negro.

The Spaniards call one (the second here described,) Cayman Negro; another of the same size they call C. amarilla, or yellow; and a smaller, which they say inhabits the Lagunes, is called Baba or Babilla, of grey colour.

The Cayman is in length eleven feet three and a half inches, and in girth four feet. Teeth, thirty-six in the upper-jaw, and the same in the under, not corresponding, but alternate; fore legs, fifteen inches long, with five toes, the two outer without nails; hind legs twenty-two inches, with four toes, three with strong nails, the outer ones without any. The belly and under jaw are white; the rest of the body black. Many caymans are killed for the sake of their teeth and fat, which lies in a deep oblong mass on each side the tail, or along the posterior part of the spine. The cayman runs fast in a straight direction, but cannot turn quickly. It travels far over land at night, to remove to other waters, for which it instinctively directs its course from great distances. In procuring its food, the cayman has the sagacity to lay the Fortuga on its back to prevent its escape, if not hungry. The largo tigers (jaguar) fall sometimes a prey to the cayman in the water, but generally conquer on land. The strength of the tiger is so great, that he lacerates and lays open the side of the neck where the cayman is most vulnerable. The battle between them when they meet on the land is said to be tremendous. There the jaguar makes the attack; and the contrary, if they meet in the water. As the cayman lies basking his scaly carcass in the sun, his enemy often encounters him; on the contrary, if the tiger is seen swimming, the cayman plunges in after him, and pulls him under the water. The caymans, however, usually watch their prey in the water, submersing the whole body except the snout and eyes, which are prominent.

A terrible encounter ensues when the cayman and camaiduor, or great water serpent, meet. Their tumbling and splashing may be heard at a great distance. The serpent, when they meet on the brink of the water, avoiding the enormous jaws of the cayman, rapidly throws itself about his body, is often untwisted in the struggle, lashing the water with tremendous violence, and returns like lightning to the gripe, till he completely squeezes his antagonist to death, unless the cayman succeeds in getting his jaws to bear upon him, in which case the battle is quickly decided. Mr. James Fraser, being in the river Waieny, on a tour to the Oronooko, in 1826, heard some loud noises, seemingly like the discharge of great guns at a distance; and all his Indian attendants said it was caused by the tail of camudi thrashing the water in a battle with the cay

man.

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