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an unsuccessful attachment, and also to avoid || from the door. Whither should she go now? || hand, and, gazing on her with tearful eyes, all chance of detection. This event put the finishing stroke to poor Rosalie's misfortunes. She was now almost universally shunned; and even her father, when he witnessed her sorrow at the young man's mysterious departure-the effect of gratitude merely-was sometimes induced to believe it was the result of self-townsfolk against her. upbraiding.

What was it now expedient for her to do? Should she change her name, as it was evident that it was only too well known? But this the principle of truth, inculcated in her by her mother at a very early age, forbade her to do.

The evening was then far spent; therefore, for that night, she hired a bed at a small guinguette, or ale-house. In the morning she decided on quitting the town, and proceeding on foot to the next village, lest those who had denied her entrance into their house, should prejudice the|| Accordingly, she set off quite early in the morning, and arrived, And is it possible,' said Rosalie, 'that you after a few hours, at so pretty a village, that can think him a murderer, and me his accom-she resolved to stay there, and if possible, hire a small room, and try to procure a service or plice?" • Why no-not positively so; but appear-some employment. She was not long in ances are strong against you both.' procuring the first, and hoped she had proThe truth was, that, having repeatedly ad-cured the second; but, when the person who mitted to his wife the possibility of Rosalie's was going to hire her, heard her name was guilt, he had tried to reconcile his weakness to Rosalie Mirbel, and whence she came, she his conscience, by believing that he might regarded her with a look of painful suspicion, have admitted a truth. And it was a father and, saying she would not suit her, shut the whom she tenderly loved, her only earthly door in her face. hope, who had thus spoken to her! It was almost more than the poor Rosalie could bear; but she remembered that she had a Father in heaven, and was comforted. To remain where she was, was now impossible; nor would her step-mother allow her to stay,|| All she could do, therefore, was to go forward, as she was told it would be a disadvantage to her own daughters if she harbored such a creature. Accordingly Rosalie was told that she must seek a distant home. This was now no trial to her. Her father had owned that he thought she might be guilty; she therefore wished to fly even from his presence. But whither should she go? There was one friend who would, as her father thought, receive her for her poor mother's sake, even in her degraded state; and to her care, by a letter which she was to deliver herself, her father consigned her. Nothing now remained but to take as affectionate a leave of her kindred as might be permitted her, to visit the grave of her mother and her friend, breathe her last prayer beside them, and take her place in the diligence which was to bear her far from her native village, in order to remain an exile from her home, till He, who is able to bring light out of darkness,' should deign to make manifest her innocence. She was going to a small town in Burgundy; and it was with a beating heart that the injured girl quitted the diligence, and, with her little bundle, asked were her mother's friend resided. The question was soon answered, and the residence pointed out; but she had the pain of hearing that she was dead, and had even been buried some days. However, she found that her son-in-law and his wife were at the house, and she ventured thither. But no sooner had the master and mistress, in her presence, read the letter together, than they both changed color, and, with an expression of aversion in their countenances, declared that, under her circumstances, they could not admit her into their family; and Rosalie, in silence and in sorrow, turned

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and as far as she could from her native place,
in hopes that the further she went, the less
likely it was that she would be recognized.
The next day, when she paid for her night's
lodging, she saw, by the countenance of the
man who lived at the house, that he had been
told who she was; and, on going out she saw
a crowd evidently waiting to look at her; nor
could she, though she walked very fast, escape
from the misery of hearing some abusive names
applied to her, and execrations of her supposed
crime. Rosalie clasped her crucifix only more
closely to her breast, and continued to trust
that the hour of her deliverance from unjust
suspicion would, in time, arrive.

said, 'I am glad thy name is Rosalie. It was
that of my dear lost child, and I shall like thee
the better for it; then, throwing herself on
her neck, she wept for the dead Rosalie in the
arms of the living one. It was with a heart
full of thankfulness that Rosalie lay down that
night; hoping that she had not only found a
permanent home, but in the affectionate widow
a second mother. When Rosalie had been
some days in her new abode, and had obtained
as much employment as she required, through
the exertions of her hostess, she wrote to her
father giving her address, and begging to hear
from him. She had long resolved not to spend
any of the money still remaining of her legacy:
that she reserved for her brothers and sisters.
I shall not live long;' thought Rosalie; my
heart is nearly broken, but one day my father
and they will love me again: one day my inno-
cence will be made known, and they will be very
sorry to think how cruelly they judged the poor
Rosalie, who, as they will then find, loved and
forgave them.'



At length she could not be easy without telling her kind friend who she was; accordingly she said, 'Dear Madelon, I have a sad secret weighing on my mind, and I cannot be satisfied without revealing it to thee.' sense!' replied she, 'I hate secrets!—I will 'Oh, but you must!— not hear it, darling!' you do not yet know who I am.' 'I know,' returned Madelon with deep feeling, that thou art the child of sorrow, and that is enough for me!' Rosalie ; of sorrow; of.

Good, generous being!' cried but I am called more than the child I am, though falsely, accused of— I know it, I know it already! Some one passing through the village saw thee, and knew thee, and came to tell me what thou wast said to be; but I did not believe thee guilty!— It was near noon before the faint and weary no, no, dear child, how could I? She a sufferer reached the suburbs of the next town, murderess ?-said I, when I have seen her and saw a kind-looking woman, in deep averse even to kill the bee that stung her! No, mourning, sitting at work at the door of a cot-no-and I sent him off with his wicked tales!' tage. Her pale, care-worn cheek, and her dress, encouraged Rosalie to accost her. Perhaps the recent loss which she had sustained had softened her heart; and Rosalie ventured to request, first, a draught of milk, and then a lodging, if she had one to let. Thou shalt have both, my child,' was the ready answer. Come in and sit down, for I am sure thou art tired.'

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Rosalie did so; and as soon as she was rested, she was shown the neat apartment which, at a moderate rent, she was to occupy, and which had only just been vacated. She then told the good woman her name was Mirble, Rosalie Mirble; and she anxiously fixed her eyes on her face to see what effect that name had on her. To Rosalie's great alarm, she, too, started, but not with any sign of aversion; on the contrary, she took her

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'Well, then,'

Then you will not cast me from you, my best friend!' said the poor girl, bursting into a flood of soothing tears, and throwing herself into her arms. Never, never!' And this was the happiest day that Rosalie had known since her misfortunes. But no reply came from her father; and, though she wrote to him every year for five years successively, she never received an answer. said she to her indignant companion, ‘I will write no more, and try to be contented with knowing I have a parent in you, Madelon.' Still, spite of her habitual trust in the goodness of providence, this neglect of a beloved parent had a pernicious effect on her health, and it continued to decline. Her beauty, which had been chiefly derived from the brilliant coloring and plumpness of youth, was now considerably faded; still, occasional fever sometimes re

stored to her eyes their wonted lustre, by giving a crimson flush to her cheek, which even exceeded in tint the vanished bloom of health.

lie away.

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Rosalie again.' Little did she suspect that
Rosalie was intending to quit her for ever.
Thy will be done!' said Rosalie, in the secret
of her heart, that night, and I will again go
forth a friendless wanderer!' comforting her-
self with the remembrance of what the preacher
said in his sermon the preceding Sabbath-day,
that God judgeth not as man judgeth;' and
with the text which he took from Job;
Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him!'

[Concluded in our next.]


For the Rural Repository.

from my father's counsel, from my mother's arms, is unwithered in my recollection. The very noise of the shutting gate, as I left the Court Yard, echoes in my ears. The voice of my sister, as she waved her hand in farewell, is audible. The large, affectionate eyes of the household dog, who leaped with agile bounds in my path, and howled his disappointment when I ordered him back, seem even now to be fixed upon my face, with their wonted expression of faithfulness and interest. Alas! father and mother and sister have long since mingled with the dust, and thou, honest Beaver, friendly to the last,

From the Desk of Wilhelmus Sil- thou, too, art gone; the home of my child

MR. Editor,


happiness and fame. Well I know, that telling thee of the world's sorrows is like breathing over the surface of a polished mirror, for it dims the images of joy which the future reflects to thine ardent hope. But let not hope allure, or fear deter thee. Press onward resolutely to thine aim, determined to carve out from the granite of opposition, fortune, and fame, and honor.

Another trial was now hanging over her. Her adopted mother was evidently laboring with some secret uneasiness--she was restless-she often went out—and she saw her frequently talking apart with her landlord; and when Rosalie went with the poor woman, as usual, to pray at the grave of her daughter, she used to throw herself along the turf, and weep with a degree of violence such as Rosalie had never witnessed in her before; and she once overheard her say, 'While I can-while I can.' Still she continued to assure Rosalie that hood is decayed and fallen; the scenes of nothing material was the matter. She was too my youth are associated only with rememsoon, however, acquainted with the truth.. WE perceive that a new volume of the brances the most mournful, life itself has Madelon's landlord unexpectedly appeared Rural Repository is about to be issued, and it proved a weary pilgrimage, where expectation before her during the good woman's absence, gladdens our hearts that thy little paper, which is deferred till the heart becomes sick, and and when she was almost too ill to see any one. has withstood gales that have capsized larger the glowing objects of anticipation prove, like He then abruptly told her that, having found sheets, and consigned their cargoes to oblivion, the fabled apples upon the shores of the dead out who she was, he had given Madelon notice is once more trimming her sail for a new sca, though bright without, ashes and bitterto quit in so many days, unless she sent Rosa-voyage. Success attend her career; may theness within. And yet, ambitious youth, I This,' added he, I tell thee wind' be raised to propel her onward, and would not chill thy warm aspirings after myself, for I suspect Madelon has not had a precious and profitable burthen consummate strength of mind enough to do it.' her triumph. And here would I check the She has had too much kindness to do it,' ambling propensities of my pen, that already she faintly replied. Indeed!' rejoined the longs for a new paragraph, upon which to landlord; I suspect she means, old as she is, extend its length, that I may advise those of soon to seek some distant home with thee.' thy readers, who, by the loving kindness of Ha!' cried Rosalie, remembering her late their neighbors, and not from any merit of uneasiness; I believe you are right, and that, their own, are allowed to peruse the Reposishe does mean to quit a house which she could tory, to adopt a mode of cogitating upon its keep, only on such terms. Oh, it is very hard columns, more certain to themselves, more on us both! Not on thee, girl; thou hast beneficial to the Editor, and more advantageous only what thou hast deserved. It is hard on to the general welfare of science; which mode the good Madelon, especially as she has saved is clearly set forth in the proposals, condition-thine own countrymen. The friends of thy some money; and how could her friends being that the payment of one dollar will entitle early days, the companions of thy manhood, easy to let her live alone with a young woman them to all the immunities and privileges of a have fallen by thy side. Death has plied his who 'Hold!' exclaimed Rosalie, trem-regular reader. By this means, they may invisible archery among thy relatives and bling with indignant emotion, I understand cultivate a more particular acquaintance with associates; the world remembers not their the vile insinuation, and I will depart!-and Wilhelmus Silverquill and his friends, whose features, their characters, or their lives; in secretly, as this is the case. But at present I communications have vastly amused the citi- thy heart their memory has its only sanctuary; am too unwell to undertake a journey: and whozens of this place, and who intend further to and even that holy resting place, time, with a knows but I may be in mercy permitted to die edify and enlighten this ancient and honorable sacrilegious hand, is hurrying into ruin. here, and then my unmerited persecutions will community. And if the reader above de-though the past may be rife with sorrowful be ended Girl! girl!' replied the landlord, scribed, will but detain the many sixpences and recollections, though every revolving year has 'thou hast been only too much favored in shillings, which, in an unimproving manner, subtracted from the hoarded treasure of thy being permitted to live so long.' So saying, do almost daily wander from the recesses of happiness, does not Hope yet burn upon the he withdrew, leaving Rosalie more miserable his purse and pocket, he may convert them altar of thy bosom, do not visions swim before than ever. When Madelon returned, she was to a valuable interest in the improvement of thy misty eye as vivid upon the precincts of alarmed at finding her worse than when she left his mind, in beguiling his leisure hours, and the tomb, as those that beckoned thee forward her; and she was surprised at the more than bringing joyous smiles over his care-worn in the morning of thy days?' Methinks as usually affectionate manner in which Rosalie visage. this Saturday passes, as thou lookest out upon welcomed her. 'My dear child,' said the good Gentle reader, whosoever thou art, I would the retiring light of day, and thine ear draweth woman, I trust that nothing shall ever part hold with thee a moment's converse. Per- in the orisons of the evening birds, purifying thee and me. I could not now bear to sepa-haps thou art a young man, flushed with and joyous anticipations elevate thy thoughts. rate from thee!' And Rosalie, bursting into expectation, and panting to take thy place in Soon wilt thou disrobe thee of the threadbare tears, shut herself up in her own room. 'Ah! the thronged arena of human existence. I mantle of flesh, and be invested with the I see she thinks she is going to die,' said love to look upon the youthful brow, unshaded garments of immortality. Soon will thy sun Madelon to herself; and I think so too some-by crime, unfurrowed by misfortune. Forty set in death, and then, like yonder descending times. Well, if she does, I shall not long years since, like thee, I started upon the luminary, thou wilt visit other skies, and shine, survive her; it will be like burying my own journey of life. The moment of separation with a beauty and brightness surpassing all the

But it may be, kind reader, that, like the writer, thou art an old man, a representative of another generation, and a foreigner among


stars of Heaven. So spend thy few remaining neck downwards, and into which the air passes hours.

'So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To the pale realms of shade, when each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.'


Neat Illustration.

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and repasses in the progress of breathing.-
This is not all: the very bones are hollow,
from which air pipes are conveyed to the most
solid part of the body, even into the quills
and feathers. This air being rarified by the
heat of the body, adds to their levity. By
forcing the air out of the body, they can dart
down from the greatest height with astonishing
velocity. No doubt, but this same machinery
forms the basis of their vocal power, and at
once solves the mystery.

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ARRAH, Pat, and why did I marry yejist tell me that; for it's myself that's had to maintain ye ever since the blessed day that Father O'Flannagan sent me home to yer Swate Jewel,' replied Pat, not relishing the charge, and it's myself that hopes I may live to see the day ye're a widow, wapeing over the cold sod that covers methen by Saint Patrick, I'll see how ye get along without me, honey!'

THE possibility of a great change being introduced by very slight beginnings (says the London Quarterly Review) may be illustrated by the tale which Lockman tells of a vizier who, having offended his master, was con-house.' demned to perpetual captivity in a lofty tower. At night his wife came to weep below his window. Cease your grief,' said the sage, 'go home for the present, and return hither when you have procured a live black beetle, together with a little ghee (or buffalo's butter,) three clews, one of the finest silk, another of CUTTING MISTAKE.-A Frenchman, on stout pack-thread, and another of whipcord; landing at Dover, went into a barber's shop finally a stout coil of rope.' When she again to be shaved. The poor man's cheeks were came to the foot of the tower, provided so much collapsed, that the barber was under according to her husband's commands, he the necessity of thrusting his fingers into his directed her to touch the head of the insect customer's mouth to assist the operation. with a little of the ghee, to tie one end of the O, mon Dieu, mon, Dieu!' exclaimed the silk thread around him, and to place the reptile Frenchman, while the barber was dashing away, on the wall of the tower. Seduced by theme be cut,' Confound your thin lantern jaws,' smell of the butter, which he conceived to be replied Strop, I have cut my fingers through in store somewhere above him, the beetle cheek.' continued to ascend till he reached the top, and thus put the vizier in possession of the roll of silk thread, who drew up the packthread by means of the silk, the small cord by means of the packthread, and by means of the cord, a stout rope capable of sustaining his own weight, and so at last escaped from the place.

ASKING ALMS.-A man who had lost both his legs, went about the country on horseback, to solicit charity. Coming to the house of an old lady, who happened to be rather of a peppery disposition, and knocking at the door as he sat on his rack of a steed, she addressed

him with

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What do you want there?'

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The Rural Repository.


NEW-YORK MIRROR.-The publishers of this elegant and popular periodical will issue the first number of a new volume on the sixth of July next. The Mirror is now considered superior to any work of the kind in this country and is continually improving. The forthcoming vol. ume is to be enlarged, and embellished with engravings superior to any it has heretofore presented. May the indefatigable exertions of its enterprising publishers to beautify and enrich their excellent journal, be amply rewarded in its more extensive circulation.

THE SHIP BEAVER, Capt. Gardner, sailed from this port on Tuesday last, on a whaling voyage. She is destined for the Pacific, and is the tenth ship that has been fitted out at this place.

Letters Containing Remittances,
Received at this Office, ending Wednesday last.
J. Shaver, Copake, N. Y. $1; H. Wescott, jr. Alexan-
S. Huntley, Ellicottville, N. Y. $1; A. Smith, Utica. N. Y.
dria, N. Y. $1; L. B. Searles, P. M. Addison, N. Y. §2 ;
$2; L. Hoyt, South Salem, N. Y. 86,67; A. A. Wright,
North Canaan, Ct. $2; J. B. Davis, Caseville, N. Y. 81;
S. Hemenway, jr. Castleton, Vt. $1; J. W. Thomas, P. M.
Center Berlin, N. Y. $1; T. Whitney, P. M. Magnolia,
N. Y. $1; A. Hitchcock, Housatonic Vile, Ms. $1; J. G.
Ring, Clermont, N. Y. $1; Taylor & Willis, Eaton, N. Y.
82; G. N. Linsabaugh, Ellenville, N. Y. $1;T. C. Cald-
well, Fitchburgh, Ms. 5; W. C. Benjamin, Fayetteville,
N. Y. $5; C.S. Willard, Catskill, N. Y. $5; C. W. Haight,
Plattekili, N. Y. $1; T. Potter, Hadley Upper Mills, Ms.
$1; J. Dean, Hillsdale, N. Y. 81; S. Swift, Austerlitz,
N. Y. 81; 0. I. Toffey, Quaker Hill, N. Y. $1; J. Labhart,
Joyce, Mount Washington, Ms. $1; W. S. Gurnee, Burdett,
Constantia, N. Y. $1; M. Reed, Colborne, U. C. 81; J D.
AN. P. Decker, Copake NY St W. Woods,
Auburn, Y. $1; M. C. Rankin, Waterford, N. Y. 1;
II. M. Adams, Waterford, N. Y. §1; G. Dubois, Redhook,

N. Y. $1.


It is stated in a paper published in Morgan county, Illinois, that the crop of wheat raised in that county the present season will not be less than 1,500,000 bushels.

The Detroit Courier mentions the arrival at that place of seven steam-boats from Buffalo, from the 1st to the 7th instant, with 2610 passengers.

Miss Leslie's Pencil Sketches' are warmly praised in the New-York American.

The works upon the Dry Dock at the Navy Yard in Charlestown, Mass. have been brought to a close. Old Ironsides' is to be taken into it next week.


In this city, on Wednesday evening the 22d ult. by the Rev. Mr. Stillman, Mr. John Carter, to Miss Helen Becraft. On Saturday evening the 25th ult by the Rev. Mr. Whittaker, Mr Urillas Tracy, of Austerlitz, to Miss Eliza Traver, of this city.

Dr. Bostwick O. Miller, of Chatham, to Miss Eliza, daugh

At Stockport, on the 16th ult. by the Rev. Mr. Cushman, ter of James Wild, Esq. of the former place.

At Albany, on the 27th ult. by the Rev. Horatio Potter, Mr. Crawford Livingston, of this city, to Miss Caroline C. daughter of Mr. William Chapman, of the former place. In Friends Meeting at Athens, Alexander J. Coffin, Esq. of Poughkeepsie, to Miss Mary S. Coffin, of the former place. At New-York, on the 25th ult. by the Rev. F. L. Hawks, William H. Freeland, Esq. Attorney at Law, to Mrs. Ann Eliza Livingston, all of this city.

A NEW VOLUME.-In accordance with the pledge given in our prospectus, we this day lay before our patrons, and the public generally, the first number of a new series of the Rural Repository. As the character and design of the paper are sufficiently set forth in the proposals and may be readily ascertained by a glance at the work itself, we do not feel disposed to indulge time, and, in our opinion, if we did, it would in a flourish of trumpets' concerning it, at this neither minister to the gratification, nor be likely to win the favor of our readers. But 'I called,' returned the beggar, humbly, to while we seek to avoid a tedious detail of ask alms.' uninteresting particulars and high sounding Arms!' exclaimed the old lady, you had pretensions, we would repeat what we have better get a pair of legs first.' heretofore said, that no exertions shall be wanting on our part to render the Repository worthy the patronage of a liberal and enlightened community; we would also, 'by way of remembrance,' once more say to our friends, that we should esteem it as an earnest of their good will, if each of them would endeavor to add one or two good responsible names to our subscription list, that we may be enabled to meet the expenses conse. quent on the enlargement of our sheet, and still fill the whole cavity of the body, from the retain some little remuneration for our services.ised boon his spirit had taken its flight.

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For the Rural Repository.

The Emigrant's Adieu to Poland.
My country, ne'er while life remains,
Shall I again behold thy plains;
Ne'er shall I view thy fields so green,
Replete with every beauteous scene.
My native land, my native hills,
Ye sloping vales and gurgling rills,
To you I bid a long farewell,

I in other lands to dwell.

Never shall I with smiling face
Review each lone sequestered place,
Where once in boyhood's happier day
I loved to rove and sport and play.
Alas! those days have long gone by,
And nought is left except to sigh
For country, friends and freedom lost,
Deprived of all I valued most.

But though I roam o'er land and sea,
My country, oft I'll think of thee!
I'll think of thee when far away-
I'll think of thee at dawn of day,
When Sol's bright chariot gilds the sky
With lustrous beams ascending high,
When midnight calm pervades the earth
And tranquilized are joy and mirth,
Then will I with a tearful eye
Lament thy wo and misery.

My home! since thee I ne'er shall view,
To thee I bid a long adieu!

York, May, 1833.



If thou hast crush'd a flower,
The root may not be blighted;
If thou hast quench'd a lamp,

Once more it may be lighted:
But on thy harp or on thy lute,
The string which thou hast broken,
Shall never in sweet sound again
Give to thy touch a token!

If thou hast loos'd a bird


Whose voice of song could cheer thee, Still, still he may be won

From the skies to warble near thee; But if upon the troubled sea

Thou hast thrown a gem unheeded, Hope not that wind or wave will bring The treasure back when needed.

If thou hast bruis'd a vine,

The summer's breath is healing, And its clusters yet may glow, Thro' the leaves their bloom revealing: But if thou hast a cup o'erthrown

With a bright draught fill'd-Oh never Shall earth give back that lavish'd wealth To cool thy parch'd lip's fever!

The heart is like that cup,

If thou waste the love it bore thee; And like that jewel gone,

Which the deep will not restore thee; And like that string of harp and lute Whence the sweet sound is scatter'd : Gently, oh! gently touch the chords, So soon forever shatter'd!

From the Amaranth.
What Things I Love.

I LOVE-O, fie! so many things I love,
That it were very hard to tell them all:
I'll mention o'er a few. And, first of all,
I love to write, when no one asks me to,-
Without a fetter, and without a wish,
Save to allay my burning thirst of soul
At the pure fount of living poesy.

I love the deep calm of a summer noon--
The holy stillness of a Sabbath morn-
The grandeur of a midnight without moon,'
I love to be abroad when morning breaks,
And the glad east welcomes the coming sun,
Whose first pure beam will fall upon the brow
And touch the heart with love, and wake the soul
With inspiration of religious thought,
"Till, in its fulness, it goes forth to GOD,
And yields its morning gift of thankfulness.

And, oh, to list the music of the stars,
When they all sing together, as of erst,
Is a deep love; for, to the delicate sense
Of spirit, there is music in the spheres,
That wheel forever mid the fair, blue depths,
Which men call Heaven. Ay, sweet and holy songs
Are breathed on every pleasant, stilly eve,
As if the stars had voices, and the arch,
Wherein they sing, were fain to echo them.

I love the wreathing of a sunny smile,-
The silent moulding of a heart-born tear;
I love an eye, whose light is eloquence,
Not heard, but felt, not listened to, but kept
And treasured, aye, more tenderly than words,
To linger on the face, where loveliness
Hath left her cunning touch, and study there,
Till I grow superstitious, and believe,
Like some of old, the power of witchery.

I love the first young violet of spring;
The grateful perfume of its odorous breath
Is hope, giving sweet pledge of brighter things

To come. And the last rose that summer gives,
There is a moral in its falling leaves.

I love the easy fall of April showers,

They come so like the gush of happy tears.
I love the fearful rushing of the storm,
Over dark woods, when the strong winds go by,
Sweeping old oaks to melody sublime!
The vivid gleam and mighty thunder-burst,
The wild, tremendous war of elements,
Create strange rapture in the ardent mind!

I love to watch the motions of the clouds,
To trace out figures in their shadowy forms,
Or see them piled in lofty grandeur up,
Like mountains on the landscape of the sky!
I love a silvery tone in a sweet voice,
Whose echo may come back, when joy is gone,
And make the lone heart glad, till Hope and Joy
Return to greet their sister, Memory.

I love the ringing of a joyous laugh;

The tender echo of a soul-breathed sigh;
All, that excites the heart to wildest mirth,
Yet all that purifies and makes it good.

But, most of all, I love my FAITHFUL FRIEND;
To walk, converse and read--read poetry,
And, when in frolic mood, be very gay;
But, if she mourns, to kiss away her tears,
And comfort her, or tell my woes to her,
If woes I chance to have; and who, of all
Our doomed and fallen race hath not? Then drink
Her voice for medicine, like Gilead's balm;

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(First, New Series) Enlarged and Improved;


On Saturday, the 8th of June, 1833, will be issued the first number of a new series of the RURAL REPOSITORY. On issuing proposals for the Tenth Volume (First new series) of the Repository, the publisher tenders his most sincere acknowledgements to all Contributors, Agents and Subscribers, for the liberal support which has induced him to offer to his patrons and the public generally, an enlarged and improved sheet at the same low and convenient rate as heretofore, which he does in the fullest confidence of meeting in an increased patronage an ample remuneration for his continued exertions to render his paper a pleasing and instructive companion, and enable it to vie in point of cheapness and interest with any literary journal now extant. New assurances on the part of the publisher of a periodical which has stood the test of years, would seem superfluous, he will therefore only say that no pains nor expense, consistent with a reasonable compensation for his labor, shall be spared to promote their gratification by its further improvement; and that original contributions from able writers, and choice selections from the best periodicals, both European and American, may be confidently expected.

The RURAL REPOSITORY will be be published every other Saturday, in the Quarto form, and will contain twenty-six numbers of eight pages each, with a title page and index to the volume, making in the whole 212 pages. It will be printed in handsome style, on Medium paper of a superior quality, with new bourgeois and brevier type, each number containing at least one quarter more matter than heretofore; making, at the end of the year, a neat and tasteful volume, the contents of which will be both amusing and instructive to youth in future years.

TERMS.-The Tenth Volume, (First new series) will commence on the 8th of June next, at the low rate of One Dollar per annum in advance, or One Dollar & Fifty Cents, at the expiration of three months from the time of subscribing. Any person, who will remit us Five Dollars, free of postage, shall receive six copies, and any person, who will remit us Ten Dollars, free of postage, shall receive twelve copies and one copy of the Ninth volume. No subscriptions received for less than one year. Names of Subscribers with the amount of subscriptions to be sent by the 10th of July, or as soon after as convenient, to the publisher, WILLIAM B. STODDARD. Hudson, N. Y. May, 1833.

EDITORS, who wish to exchange, are respectfully requested to give the above a few insertions, or at least a passing notice, and receive Subscriptions.



It is printed in the Quarto form, and will contain twentysix numbers of eight pages each, with a title page and index to the volume.

TERMS.-One Dollar per annum in advance, or One Dollar and Fifty Cents, at the expiration of three months from the time of subscribing. Any person, who will remit us Five Dollars, free of postage, shall receive siz copies, and any person, who will remit us Ten Dollars, free of postage, shall receive twelve copies and one copy of the Ninth volume. No subscriptions received for less than one year.

All Orders and Communications must be post paid to receive attention.

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A LITTLE money is a good thing in the outset of life, if a person have wisdom to make a right and judicious use of it. But the head and the pocket must balance well; the scales must be equipoised; for if one or the other kick the beam a loss will, in most cases, ensue. If you have too little wit, the world will over-reach you; if too much, you will outwit yourself. In either case ten chances to one, your purse, or rather the contents of it, will slip through your fingers. Among the dangers to which hereditary wealth subjects us, are pride, indolence, extravagance; and the smaller the portion of our inheritance, the more danger is there. But what is most extraordinary, is that these very evils are often nursed up in the same cradie with the child, cherished with his growth, and instilled into all his habits, as he passes through the routine of his education, by parental care and misjudging affection.

NO. 2.

of the sciences; wrote poetry; kept an album ; || cogniac below stairs; while in the midst of
understood music; and was finally fitted out the best company, the best living, and dreaming
at home with a fine parlor and piano. What of nothing but pleasure and amusement, one
a fine lady,' said the wondering villagers of Bob's creditors rapped his knuckles. The
what a very fine lady; how fashionable; how bailiffs are an ill-bred set; they know just about
perfectly genteel.'
as much of gentility, and all that sort of thing,
as a bear about a lady's toilette; and therefore,
as might also have been expected, the carpets,
the plate, the sideboard, and even the very
piano, were levied on.

It was even so, and the first difficulty which arose, was about the choice of that very vexatious, but still no less necessary evil-a husband. The pretty girl who has the whole world of beaus to choose from, sometimes finds it difficult to make a perfectly unobjectionable choice. It was not then to be wondered at, that Cornelia should be embarrassed in making a selection; for she was circumscribed in her sphere by the very small compass of perfectly genteel people like herself. Such an one, with a good substantial fortune too, was to be sought. Her stars favored her at last, however, and she was married to a young gentleman as accomplished as herself; one who had as many apologies at his fingers ends as buttons on his coat, an A. B. and a professor; who drove tandem with one hand, winged a pigeon at every shot, and drank nothing but Madeira.

Cornelia was an heiress. That is, she was worth some thousands of dollars. I never It was said that the young gentleman and knew exactly the sum; common report lady were each a little disappointed in each seldom speaks the truth in these matters, and other's fortune; and that in the outset there it is rather unmanly to inquire very particularly was a trifling jar on the subject of finances, but into a lady's fortune. She was indulged by Cornelia adhered to her piano and Bob to his her kind mamma at home, and caressed by her rifle and Madeira, and all went on quite kind friends abroad; sent to the most fashion-musical again. Neither of them had suffered able school; the mistress daily advised that she was a peculiarly delicate little girl, with most exquisite sensibilities and rare genius; and was to be treated with all becoming tenderness and consideration. There she learnt a few of the useful, and a great many of the ornamental branches taught in such seminaries; and was finally despatched to a boarding school to finish her education-a polite, education; with which the adjective useful,' as usual, had very little if any thing to do.


so vulgar a thought, as that, how to get a living
when their cash was gone, to enter their heads.
But fortune in all these cases, has a plain
matter of fact way of dealing, with even the
most genteel people; and when they have
spent their last dollar, just turns them out of
house and home, as unceremoniously as if
they were no better than common folks.
She never works a miracle to sustain those
who never learned, or had the disposition, to
work anything themselves. And so it turned
out in this case.

She was now an accomplished lady. She Whilst the piano was in tune in the parlor, understood French and painting; was versed and every thing was out of tune in the in Belles-Lettres; knew something of philos-kitchen; while the master drank Madeira ophy, natural and moral; had gone the round above stairs, and the servants were drunk with

Still, so far as physical ability was concerned, it was not too late, perhaps, to turn the current of affairs.-There was a plain and ready remedy for the disease, even in its present state. An entire change of living and of habits; economy for extravagance; and industry for indolence. But how hard is it for those who have been thus educated to change; how often is the moral ability, the will, wanting? And here it proved to be the case.

They struggled awhile to keep up appearances; but only sunk deeper in the end. Ten years after they were almost forgotten. I made many inquiries after them among the villagers, and finally discovered that Robert and his wife had separated; and that he had exchanged his dogs and gun for a tar hat and blue jacket; was a wanderer of the sea; and the elegant and accomplished Cornelia, instead of thumping a piano, was gaining a scanty subsistence at the spinning wheel.

So much for the story. Industry and virtue are the best legacies parents can bequeath their offspring; the only sure defence against misfortune. Let those who are charged with the education of children beware lest through an over anxiety to make them accomplished, they fail to make them useful members of society; instead of making them respectable, make them proud; instead of cultivating their genius, lead them into indolence. I say beware!

DESTINY.-We are all the playthings of destiny, and it often depends on a trifle not more than the toss-up of a halfpenny, whether a man should raise himself to riches and honors, or pine away in misery and want till he dies.

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