such a change! To the eye of the practical man, him of "sines and angels," an improvement is palpable. Who has not rejoiced that those perfect bags, which "lang syne," were wont to elbow us to such respectful distance, have lately deteriorated to their "least possible perimetry," upon the economical principle, no doubt of confining the "greatest capacity under the least surface." Truly, thy nature, O woman! tendeth to extremities. In one age, it delighteth thee to protract the petticoats, and patronize a train; but in our day, thou art pleased to curtail, and incline to a fashion antipodical! Horace says, "Est modus in rebus; sunt carti denique fines, Quos ultrà citràque nequit, constitere rectum." which in "the King's good English," signifies thus: shun Scylla and avoid Charybdis; retain neither those enormous encumbrances, nor these deteriorated receptacles, which now encase thine arms. Let "nature be thy directrix," and then lovely enough wilt thou be, for thy loveliness. Ergo, apropos of love. Fastidious and sentimental reader! hast thou ever been in love? Say me not nay, for somehow, thou hast, may be, in the abstract. If perchance thou hast ever found, that "dear peculiar one," of whom Coleridge discourseth; in her, thou hast, undoubtedly, embodied the perfection of all thy wildest dreams. As thou art human, thou art partial to the sex. Own, then, "the soft impeachment;" sojourn awhile with me, and I will lead thee into fairy land, and exhilarate thy imagination with my own experience in the refinements of love. For myself, I owe it to candor to say, that my whole life's pilgrimage has been one unbroken series of loves -not selfish, but pure and disinterested; love for its own sake-a willingness to love, without a reciprocation; not bold, but a secret, smouldering flame, buried in the deepest recess of the heart, ready to glow and re-kindle, at the sweet smile of the first fair one, not manifesting itself in any ordinary way, and not disclosing itself in any fashionable way. I never dream of making any approximation; much more, of addressing the adored one; for the very idea of being in love, dispels love's charm, and breaks his silken fetter. To me, it is the climax of felicity, to occupy some secret nook, and gaze out from thence-build my castles of love, and luxuriate in my own rich imaginings. This is the soul and body, the very quintessence, the "sine quâ non" of love. O! I abhor your simpering parties; your moon-light walks, mid-day rambles, and all your modern paraphernalia of love. "Love," says Irving, "can never be described." With all due respect for his fame, and deference for his superior judgment, I demur; and entreat you, before deciding so momentous a question, to hear first my theory, and believe, at the same time, that I would not presume to call in ques tion, so high authority as the author of this sentiment, were it not that he is, and ever has been a bachelor! Love is a gem, which, in my opinion, may be likened to a kind of "bona fide" egg, laid in the human heart, and, will in its own time, invariably, hatch, fledge and fly; or if a domestic fowl, as it should be, will grow up, and become a plump, lusty pullet! Or perhaps it might be likened to an acorn planted there, destined sooner or later, to swell and sprout, and vegetate, and spread its foliage over the heart. If permitted to shoot up in solitude, it will gradually unfold its branches, and shed its fragrance on the "desert air;" but in a community of kindred oaks, it will delight to associate its "umbrageous shade," with its fellows. This is my doctrine; and with this radical view, I can easily account for all the phenomena of love, both in ancient and modern times. Thus, owing to this spontaneous development, was it, that Rebecca, at first sight of Isaac, impulsively drew down her veil, and alighted from her camel. And thus, also, did the first conception of the tender passion, enter the breast of the royal poet of Scotland, when, "With easy sighs, such as men draw in love," he exclaimed: "O Lord! what may this be, And thus did that same amorous and romantic prince have this inexplicable 'mystery' unraveled, when he beheld walking upon the window of his prison-chamber, "the fairest and freshest young flower that he had ever seen," in the beautiful person of the 'lovely Lady Jane,' of whose charms he became forthwith enamored. But, dearest! a truce to love. * * * * * Gentle reader! An' thou hast thus far accompanied me, may be thou wouldst be pleased to have an inkling of thy companion. How important it is, that I should "show myself up" to thee, and to a discerning public! Were this a proper time, copiously could I hold forth the inestimable and innumerable advantages that would redound, were all authors to "go and do likewise." And who can doubt the right of the good public to know the feelings and impulses, tears and smiles, hopes and heart-burnings, virtues, blemishes and backslidings, of all such as cater for the gratification of its literary palate? Aye! and who, too, can tell the exquisite delight it experiences, in ferreting out all the little intricacies of their private or domestic histories? What an unction to the soul, to learn even, that their author wears a wig or spectacles, sports a cane or whiskers, or takes Scotch snuff, and above all, whether he is a married man or a bachelor! To gratify, therefore, thy so laudable curiosity, and humor thy private whim, I will sketch a brief outline of my complacent self; begging that, should you detect me wandering from the strict line of veracity, you will recollect that I am an autobiographer. The chief ingredients in my composition are, a capability of gullibility, a perceptibility of the ludicrous, and a susceptibility of the tender emotion. I am a firm disciple of "Bumpology," having in the first place "got a character," in which I place implicit faith, and in the second, having had in contemplation, for a long time, a "magnetic flight" to Venus! Furthermore, I invariably stretch my mouth from ear to ear, on every common-place occasion, while others are only thinking of looking grave. I have contracted a habit-call it a fault, or not, or what you will—a habit of giving utterance, unconsciously, to the emotions of risibility, without regard to time, place, or circumstance. Never has an embargo been laid on my jaws! Sometimes, I confess, I break out into a genuine infectious horse-laugh; and anon, some fanciful conceit of the brain causes the humorous vein to take a deeper turn, and flow in a richer current, widening and deepening as it flows on, and producing a sensation altogether internal, and yet not less delightful! I hate your selfish, moonshine dignity. O my soul! enter not the arcana of that adamantine bosom! and from the long-faced gravity of that sanctimonious phiz stand thou aloof! Gravity, as "Poor Yorick" hath it, is an arrant scoundrel, a mysterious carriage of the body to cover the defects of the mind; a taught trick, to gain credit of the world for more than a man possesses; and he verily believed that more evil was done by it in one twelvemonth, than by all the horse-thieving and shop-lifting of the last century! Away, then, with that monkish cowl; avert that sullen frown; assume thy sweetest smile; grant me an open heart, and an open hand; yield thyself submissively and implicitly to my guidance, while I promise not to fatigue thee with the dull monotony of facts and technicalities, or tire thy patience with a long catalogue of localities, and a thousand nice descriptions of what neither of us care a fiddlestick! But just to whisper in thy individual ear a "plain unvarnished tale" of sentiment; such an one as thou wilt delight to listen to, and I shall love to tell thee. The which, my dear Sir Critic! shall be forthcoming in due season-and the which, my very dear Madam! has not as yet passed the incipient stages of conception. ANDEN. THE FORSAKEN. TO ONE BETRAYED, AND AFTERWARDS FOUND LIFELESS WITH HER INFANT IN THE THE INCIDENT OCCURRED SOME YEARS AGO. DEPTHS OF A FOREST. MAIDEN, now thy woes are ended, Now the sands of life are run; Where is he, the faithless lover, O! deceived, ne'er deceiving Him, in whom thou didst confide, Yes! when others did deride thee, Still his love seemed more than fame! Brief but bright thine hours of gladness For thy ardent love he slighted- Far from haunts of men retiring, Wan, and worn with passion's strife, Slighted love, thy bosom firing, Drank the lucid fount of life! Wintry skies are frowning o'er thee, Rude and strong's the tempest's breath; And this gem, thy breast adorning, Lo! its tide of life, fresh flowing, Yet 'tis well-for ye shall never Nature's child and passion's creature! ́ Round thee frowning, lofty mountains Flowers from thy grave upspringing, And thy gentle, erring spirit, All its frailties here forgiven, Shall, we trust, pure joys inherit, "Where the weary rest"-in Heaven! ? THE SPIRIT OF ELOQUENCE. "Persuasion, friend, comes not by toil or art; Sends forth the streams that melt the ravished hearer. Then work away for life-heap book on book Line upon line, and precept on example : The stupid multitude may gape and look, And fools may think your stock of wisdom ample. But would you touch the heart, the only method known, Faust. WHAT the shield of Minerva was in mythology, eloquence is in the world of realities. The gorgon head of Medusa, on the former, had a transforming, a petrifying power over the bodies of The burning spirit of the latter, controls the human mind, by an almost equally mysterious influence, and does all but newcreate the passions and affections of the heart. Cicero informs us, men. |