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We present the readers of the Garland this mnnlh a finely engraved portrait of Queen Victoria, and a very fine, spirited and beautifully engraved view of one of her country seats. This lady occupies a large share of the attention of the world, although she is, in reality, but a mere cypher in the government of even her own country, except so far as eclat and patronage gives her influence. Almost every individual, however, feels some interest in her movements and conduct, owing to the conspicious place she occupies, and a feeling of gallantry or admiration for one of her sex and .age being placed upon the throne of a great and powerful nation. She is now about 24 years of age, began to reign in 1837, and has thus far maintained

Vol. VI.—No. 10.—April, 1843.

her popularity, kept her people in good humor with herself, and, so far as we can learn, has behaved herself very well, considering she is a Queen, and conducted herself with great propriety and good sense. Her husband, Prince Albert, also.seems to be a domestic kind of man, well spoken of, and well treated, though he be a Dutchman. They now have two children. Victoria seems to be extremely fond of exercise and travelling. Judging from the " newspapers," she appears to be all the time "gadding," when she is able. In addition to her recent long and exciting journey into Scotland, where she was every where received with the most cordial demonstrations of good will and good wishes, she has several fine country seats and pa

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laces to which she makes frequent excursions; one of which is here presented. It is called

CLARE MONT, And is situated in the "Environs of London." A London paper of a recent date, from \vhich we copy the engravmgs, says: "Her Majesty having determmed upon again honormg Claremont with her presence, we lose no time in presenting a view of this very delightful retreat. It is expected that her Majesty and his Royal Highness Prince Albert will visit Claremont in the course of a few days. The game in the royal preserves here is more abundant than it has been tor many seasons past." From this we judge the object m the visit was to allow Prmce Albert an opportunity to shoot at the poof animals that harbor m the woods, or Park, attached to the place.

The historical account of Clarernont is thus given. It owed its origin to Sir John Vanbrugh, who bought some land here and built a house for his own accommodation. Pelham, Earl of Clare, afterwards Duke of Newcastle, bought the estate of Sir John, much improved the grounds, and added a banquetting-room for the entertainment of his colleagues and parliamentary supporters. The seat derives its name from a building erected on a mount in the park by Lord Clare, and called after his own name. Of th^ gardens at Claremont oue writer says, rather pompously, "There you may wander with secure delight, and saunter with perpetual amusement." The grounds bemg thus improved, the original house was tbund no. longer worthy so magnificent a demesne. The great Lord Clive, who purchased the estate from the Duke of Newcastle, gave Browne orders to erect a mansion, regardless of expense, who is said to have performed the task very much to the satisfaction of his employer, although the expense was above one hundred thousand pounds, ft is a noble mansion, forming an oblong square of fortyfour yards by thirty tout. On the ground floor are eight spacious rooms, besides the hall of entrance and the grand staircase. On the principal front a flight of thirteen steps leads to the great entrance, under a pediment supported by columns of the Corinthian order. The general etTect is grand without heaviness, and chastely elegant. On the death of Lord Clive, this estate was sold tor little more^lhan one third of what the mansion and improvements had cost, and was purchased by Lord Galway, by whom it was suld to the E,irl of Tyrconnell, who disposed of it to Charles Rose Ellis, E=q.; this gentleman resided at Claremont until 1816, when it was purchased by Government tor £09,000 for the i country residence of the princess Charlotte! and prince Leopold, now kmg of Belgium. 1

Prom the Lady's Book. "WHERE THE WEARY ARE AT REST." BY JULIET H. LEWIS.

Mother! mourning for the infant,

Now released from sin and pain,
Call not back the ransomed spirit

To the weary world again.
Though the hues of earth have faded,

Lone thy house, and sad thy breast,
Ye shall meet again, rejoicing,

"Where the weary are at rest."

Warrior! 'mid the din of battle

Dealing death on all around, Marring ruthlessly God's image,

Felling brothers to the ground, Cease the strife, and turn to Heaven!

Break the sword and doff the crest! Scenes like these will never lead thee

"Where the weary are at rest."

Toiling slave of wild ambition!

Scheming for a monarch's crown, Spending years of early promise,

Seeking for the world's renown, Cease thy vain pursuit of phantoms!

Quench the fires within thy breast! Strifes like thine! oh, what avail they

"Where the weary are at rest."

Miser! gloating o'er thy coffers,

Saddened with a wealth untold, Know'st thou not thy dross will perish?

Dimmed will be thy shining gold? Seek the treasures of pure Heaven!

Even such was God's behest: Free are all things from corruption

"Where the weary are at rest."

Young and lovely maiden! wreathing

Hope's bright blossoms round thy brow, All thmgs smile in love upon thee,

Bright the world before the now, Ere that world shall disappoint thee

Let thy Saviour be confessed! Steer thy bark toward the haven

"Where the weary are at rest."

Drooping one! o'er earth a wand'rer,

Friendless, houseless, dost thou roam! This is not for thy abiding,

Heaven shall be thy lasting home. Cheer thee then, though now thy spirit

Be by worldly woes distressed, Endless joys thou shalt inherit

"Where the weary are at rest."

Christian sufferer! worn with anguish,

Racked by more than mortal pain, Longing for release, and Heaven,

Chafes thy spirit at her chain? Soon the bonds of earth shall sever,

Thou'lt be numbered with the blest, "Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest."

For the Ladies' Garland.

CRITICISM.

BY MRS. LYDIA JANE PIERSON.

"Dear Ellen, do oblige the company by reading aloud the sweet little poem yon were just finishing when I surprised you this morning. We are all personal friends and shall be delighted to hear it."

"Oh, yes! do read it, Ellen!" came from every part of the room; and the young girl was obliged, out of pure good nature, to undergo the martyrdom of reading aloud her own composition. So, with the tide of modesty flashing throughthe pearl of her cheek, and the long dark lashes delicately shading her soft blue eyes, in a slightly tremulous tone, she commenced—

"'Twas when the pale autumn was sighing,
When sear leaves were fluttering round,
And every sweet blossom lay dying
With soft bosom on the cold ground;
That, tearful and desolate-hearted,
Fair Isabel stray'd to the grove,
Where she and her lover had parted
While spring birds were warbling of love.

"With promise of speedy returning,
He went, joyous-hearted and free,
And left her despairingly mourning
Beneath the old sycamore tree.
His name on that tree he had graven,
And Isabel often knelt there,
And fervently offer'd to heaven
That name in a tremulous pray'r.

"But rumor had wounded her bosom
With tales of his falsehood of late,
And now the poor frost-blighted blossom
But typified Isabel's fate.
Pale, bent by affliction, and weary,
She still sought the desolate grove,
Where all, like her spirit, was dreary,
And blighted and cold like her love.

"Now by the lov'd sycamore kneeling,
She pour'd forth her agoniz'd prayer,
Nor heeded a foot that came stealing,
Till Isadore knelt by her there.
Then, clasp'd to his fond, faithful bosom,
Her sorrows all vanish'd in air;
And when spring put forth her sweet blossoms,
She twin'd the bride rose in her hair."

"Beautiful!" cried a dark eyed girl, whose lips looked as if formed exclusively for the expression of tender sentiments. "Beautiful!" she repeated, and sighed deeply.

"Nonsense !" ejaculated a jolly bachelor of forty-five. "Strange, that the Pegassus of every young lady should follow the same track. Love, weep, and marry."

"Ridiculous!" snarled a maiden lady of fifty winters. "As if woman's life and hap

piness depends entirely upon the caprice of some animal of the other sex. I wish women would learn to feel and assert their own independence. I really think it indelicate in a young lady to write, or even to read in public, such love ditties."

"I must be allowed to differ from your judgment, madam," remarked an urbane old gentleman, who certainly had been a lover, a husband, and a father. "I do not discover any indelicacy in the words or sentiments of Miss Ellen's poem; while 1 certainly think that the tact with which she has told a long story in a few short, grammatical and wellmeasured lines, does honor to her judgment, and gives promise of future excellence in the poetic department."

"My dear young lady," he said, addressing Ellen, who was sobbing in spite of her efforts to the contrary. "This poem is, I presume, the first you have submitted to public opinion, and the criticisms with which it has been honered will, I hope, save you much future pain. You are now aware that critics are more frequently influenced by their own tempers, than by any merit or demerit of the composition under consideration. You will not in future suffer yourself to be elated or depressed by any person's censure or applause, unless you know such person to be of sound, discriminating judgment, and generous spirit. Let me advise you to weigh every criticism against your own judgment, and never expect to please the world, now that you see how the opinions of a small circle differ on the same subject."

GEORGE WASHINGTON.

ANECDOTES RELATED BY JOHN ADAMS, SENIOR.

The following account of the appointment of General Washington to the supreme command of the continental army, June 18th, 1775, has been placed in our hands by a gentleman in whose veracity we have full confidence. We cannot doubt the authenticity of the anecdotes he gives. Their subject has of late years been brought before the public under various versions, and has in every shape attracted attention. The private journal narrates a conversation with John Adams, senior, before that great and good man was called to his final rest. The relation is more in detail than that which has hitherto been made public; but it substantially corroberates the former versions of the causes which led to the appointment of Washington. Lest we should in any way affect the anecdote, we give it in the words of the narrator.

The army was assembled at Cambridge, Mass., under General Ward, and Congress was sitting at Philadelphia. Every day new '. applications in behalf of the army arrived.— The country was urgent that Congress should legalize the raising of an army; as they had what must be considered and was in law considered only a mob, a band of armed rebels. The country was placed in circumstances of peculiar difficulty and danger. The struggle had began and yet every thing was without order. The great trial now seemed to be in this question—Who shall be the Commander in Chief! It was exceedingly important, and was felt to be the hinge on which the contest might turn for or against us. The Southern and Middle States, warm and rapid in their zeal for the most part, were jealous of New England, because they felt the real physical force was here; what was to be done? All New England adored General Ward; he bad been in the.French war; and came out laden with laurels. He was a scholar and a statesman. Every qualification seemed to cluster in him; and it waB confidently believed that the army could not receive an appointment over him. What then was to be done? Difficulties thickened at every step. The struggle was to be long and bloody.— Without union all was lost. The country and the whole country must come in. One pulsation must beat through all hearts. The cause was one and the army must be one.— The members had talked, debated, considered and guessed, and yet the decisive step had not been taken. At length Mr. Adams came to his conclusion. The means of resolving it were somewhat singular, and nearly as follows: he was walking one morning before Congress Hall, apparently in deep thought, when his cousin Samuel Adams came up to him and said,

"What is the topic with you this morning?"

"Oh, the army, the army," he replied. "I am determined to go into the hall this morning, and enter on a full detail of the state of the colony, in order to show an absolute need of taking some decisive steps. My whole aim will be to induce Congress to appoint a day for adopting the army as the legal army of these united colonies of North America, and then to hint at an election of a Commander in Chief!"

"Well," said Samuel Adams, "I like that, cousin John, but on whom have you fixed as that Commander V

"1 will tell you—George Washington, of Virginia, a member of this house."

"Oh," replied Samuel Adams,''quickly, »' that will never do, never."

"It must do, it shall do," said John, and for these reasons; the Southern and Middle States are both to enter heartily into the cause; and their arguments are-potent! they say that N.;w England holds the physical power in her hands, and they fear the result. A

New England army, a New England commander, with New England perseverance, all appealed to them. For this cause they hang back. Now the only course is to alky their fears, and give them nothing to complain of; and this can be done in no other way but by appointing a Southern chief over this force, and then all will rush to the standard. This policy will blend usjo one mass, and that mass will be resistless."

At this, Samuel Adams seemed greatly moved. They talked over the preliminary circumstances and John asked his cousin to second the motion. Mr. Adams went in, took the floor, and put forth all his strength in the delineations he had prepared, all aiming at the adoption of the army. He was ready to own the army, appoint a commander, vote supplies, and proceed to business. After this speech had been finished, some doubted, some objected, and some feared. His warmth increased with the occasion, and to all these doubts and hesitations he replied:

"Gentlemen, if this Congress will not adopt this army before ten moons have set, New England will adopt it, and she will undertake the struggle alone—yes, with a strong arm, and a clear conscience, she will front the foe single-handed.

This had the desired effect . They saw New England was neither playing nor to be played with; they agreed to appoint a day. A day was fixed. It came. Mr. Adams went in, took the floor, urged the measure, and after some debate it passed.

The next thing was to get a commander for this army, with supplies, &c. All looked to Mr. Adams on the occasion, and he was ready. He took the floor, and went into a minute delineation of the character of General Ward —bestowing upon him encomiums which then belonged to no one else. At the end of the eulogy he said, "but this is not the man I have chosen." He then went into the delineation of the character of a Commander in Chief; such as was required by the peculiar situation of the Colonies at that juncture.— And after he had presented the qualifications in his strongest language, and given the reasons of the nomination he was about to make, he said—

"Gentlemen, 1 know these qualifications are high, but we all know they are needful at this crisis, in this chief. Does any one say they are not to be obtained in this country! In reply I have to say they are; they reside in one of our own body, and he is the person whom I now nominate,—George WashingTon, Of Virginia.

Washington, who sat on Mr. Adams' right hand, was looking him intently in the face, to watch the name he was about to announce, and not expecting it would be his, sprang from his seat the minute he heard it and rushed into an adjoining room. Mr. Adams had asked his cousin Samuel to ask for an adjournment as soon as the nomination was made, in order to give the members time to deliberate and the result is before the world.

I asked Mr. Adams, among other questions, the following:

"Did you ever doubt of the success of the conflict?"

"No, no," said he, "not for a moment. I expected to be hung and quartered, if I was caught; but no matter for that—my country would be free; I knew George III. could not forge chains long enough and strong enough to reach around these United States.

Written for the Ladies' Garland. 1

MYSTERIES.

t

Tltis life is but a sleep and a forgetting. , t

BY THOMAS L. BARKIS.

Oh, wild and thrilling mysteries unto this life belong, Half seen, half unrevealed, around our daily path they throng.

They hover o'er us in the dreams, the trance-like dreams of night,

They fly not though the shadows fade before the morning light.

Though through dim forest-paths we rove, we tread not

there alone,— The heart of nature beateth with a dreamy undertone; Oft mys tic voices quivering float from some far distant

sphere,

And me? It the soul to tenderness, yet fall not on the ear!

Oft Memory comes with tender look, and takes us by the hand.

And leads us, nothing loth, into her dim and shadowy land,

And there, all clothed in snowy robes of purity and truth, We see the dear, true-hearted ones who loved us in our

youth! . .

The beautiful, the beautiful, noearthly tongue fhay tell. How god-like they have grown in that swect clime

wherein they dwell! , , K

Well may they sweep their golden lyres with many a

rapturous strain, For they no more are bowed to earth by mystery's icy

chain!

The laugh of childhood's innocence, so anget-like and clear.

Brings from' the spirit's secret depths full oft the starting tear;

Vague longings for the unattained within the heart

arise.

And future hopes commingle with our cherished memories!

The god-like soul unfolds its wings, and panteth for the time

When it may soar away unto that undiscovered clime; And wearily the body pines to sleep and be at rest, Lulled by the chime of passing years on mother Nature's breast!

Here, in this bitter, stranger world, " things are not

what thoy seem;" Earth's brightest glories vanish like the phantoms of a

dream.

Begirt with unborn nobleness, the immortal soul of man Hath strove with pride, and worldliness, since first this time began;

Cheered on by seraph-warblings, from the upper-Eden shore.

That sweetly rise above the din of sorrow's cataract roar;

Lit by thp first gray dawning? of a never ending day, In which all mysteries will fade, and shadows pass away!

Utica, JV. T., 1843.

Written for the Ladies'Garland.

ITALY.

With what pleasing emotions do we turn from the busy cares of life, to regale our minds amid the nations of eastern climes; and what one is more pregnant with interest than the beautiful Italy—the land of poetry and song—which has been almost forgotten. But it reminds us of the short duration of human glory. We sigh that this fountain of literature nnd art—from whence much of our present knowledge has sprung—should be so neglected.

From Italy have arisen some of the greatest men, whose names grace the pages of history. If we seek heroes, Ca^ar, Pompey, Augustus, and Cincinnatus, riEe up before our sight; if we speak of eloquence, Cicero claims the palm; if we whisper of poetry, Virgil lifts up his golden lyre. So if we course the whole circle of human talents, taste, science, and the arts, Italy responds to the inquiry, and claims them as her own.— Yet with all her claims, she is unnoticed.— Well might Byron exclaim—

"I've stood upon Achillea tomb And heard Troy doubted— Time shall doubt of Rome"

Would you behold the chief city of Italy l Hear what the same poet says of Imperial Rome—

"I stood within the Coliseum's wall,
'Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome—
The trees which grow along the broken arches
Wav'd dark in the blue midnight, and the stars
Shone through the rents of ruin. From afar,
The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber, and
More near, from out the Cesar's palace, came
The owl's loud cry, and interruptedly
Of distant sentinels, the fitful song
Began, and died upon the gentle wind.
Some cypresses, beyond the time-worn beach,
Appear to skirt the horizon, yet they stood
Within a bow-shot where the Cssars dwelt.
And dwell the tuneless birds of night amidst
A grove which springs through levelled battlements,
And twines its roots with the Imperial hearths;
Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth,
But the Gladiator's bloody circus stands
A noble wreck in ruinous perfection—
Whilst Cesar's chambers and the Augustan Halls,
Grovel in earth in indistinct decay."

Thus stood Rome in his day. Since then, the work of ruin has acquired a greater impetus, and like all things touched by the wasting hand of decay, Rome is crumbling into her original earth.

Although the glory of Italy has departed, yet she still claims much to merit our attention. Her cloudless skies, her towering mountains, and verdant vales often entice the traveller to her shores.

Who can wonder that the arts should have been nursed and fostered in the lap of Italy 1 —that poetry, painting, and music should emanate from a land so fertile in the elements of beauty, and sublimity ?—a land where skies, seas, lakes, forests, Alpine heights, and pastoaal valleys unite in the formation of

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