vour of the immortality of the soul, when Frederick suddenly interrupted him by exclaiming :-What sir, you wish to be immortal? Pray, what have you done to deserve it ?"

EPITAPH.

Cardinal Brundusius caused this epitaph in Rome to be inscribed upon his tomb, both to show his willingness to die, and to tax those who were loth to depart. Excessi e vitæ ærumnis facilsique

que,

formed for two purposes, to be virtuous
He did not confine
and to be happy.
the latter term within the limits of any
philosophical theory, --he understood
happiness as the world, and not as the
philosophers understood it. Being of
a gay disposition he gave it free vent;
and the levities of his youth were as
much the subject of conversation as the
heroism of his maturer years has become
the theme of history.

He used to relate with much pleasure a kind of adventure which had occurred lubens-to him upon his first introduction into the great world--the court of Louis XIV. We here translate it freely as it is given in a French work of literary reputation, which has just appeared in Paris, and attracted much attention.

Ne pegora ipsa morte dehinc videam.· With ease and freedom I resign'd this breath,

Lest I should longer see what's worse than death.

SINGULARITIES.

The proverb says Boston folks are full of notions," but we meet with them no where more than in England In a late Magazine we find the following notices.

A rich citizen, lately deceased, left each of his two daughters, as their fortune, their weight in 11. Bank-notes; and, on being put into the scale, the eldest weighed 7 stone 2lb. the second 8 stone. The eldest, in consequence, became possessed of a fortune amount ing to 51,2001. and the youngest, being the heaviest, to 57,3441. and it was ascertained on the following scale :-32 Bank-notes, of 11. each, weigh an ounce avoirdupois 512 notes will therefore weigh a pound-51,200 notes will weigh 7-stones 2 pounds, or 100 pounds-and 57,344 notes weigh 112 pounds, or 81

stone.

Mr. Curran, cross-examining a Tailor.-Upon your oath, Sir, where did this conversation happen?" In the back parlour of my shop, my cutting room" "What were you then about your self?" "Walking about."-" Aye, just taking a stroll in your cabbage garden."

MARSHAL TURRENE.

THE celebrated Viscount Turrene, in his earlier youth, was a man of pleasure in the innocent sense of that word; it was his constant maxim, that man was

The Father of Turrene was persuaded/ that his son would make his fortune at Paris, but with that kind of blindness) not uncommon to parents, he expected this desired event by means very little suited to the character and mind of ther young Chevalier. Will it be credited that Turrene was sent to the court of Louis XIV. for the purpose of making his fortune by entering into the Sorbonne ?

Accordingly with ten louis d'ars in-his pocket, the young. Turenne was conducted by his father to the town nearest his paternal chateau, whence the good old gentleman saw his son safely into a provincial stage, and with many blessings left him on his road to Paris.

Turrene,when a few miles on his road, got into conversation with a fellow pas-, senger; and there being in the vehicle but this gentleman and himself, they soon became as much acquainted as if they had passed their whole lives to gether. Turrene himself was always noted for his candour and pleasantry, and the young Chevalier, his fellow-passenger, seemed much of the same character. There were no limits, therefore to their mutual confidence. Turrene entered into a narrative of his expectations; and his companion, equally com municative, informed Turrene of all the circumstances of his situation.

Turrene learned by this detail that the name of his companion was the Chevalier Dupaty; that he was the son of an old citizen of Blois, and was going to Paris on a visit to a merchant, the old friend of his father, with the purpose of marrying the old gentleman's daughter. Old Monsieur Dupaty and

the Parisian merchant had, it seems, crowns, sallies forth for the house of been educated together, and though so Monsieur St. George, having given separated by the events of their future previous orders for the burial of his life, that they had scarcely seen each friend. It may be here necessary to other for twenty years, they had mutu- mention that, by the regulations of ally retained that affectionate remem- Paris, every one was required to be brance not uncommon in like situations. buried within twelve hours after his The old merchant, whose name is given disease. as Monsieur St. George, had therefore sent an invitation to Monsieur Dupaty, to endeavour to unite their families; expressing in the same letter what he would give with his daughter, and what he should except the young Dupaty would bring with him. The letter concluded, that if old Dupaty agreed to the proposal, the young Chevalier should be sent with a bag of five hundred crowns, and the nuptials be forthwith concluded.

"Have you never seen your intended, Chevalier?" said Turrene.

"Never," replied the young Dupaty. "Nor the old gentleman;" rejoined

Turrene.

"Never my friend;" re-added the Chevalier.

"It will he a singular union then," said Turrene; "but perhaps these things are not so much the worse for being done blind-folded; fortune may choose perhaps as well as ourselves."

On coming to the house of Monsieur St. George, Turrene ordered the porter to announce his arrival to his master. "Who am Ito announce, Sir," said the porter.

"The Chevalier Dupaty."

The porter had not lived in the family for nothing; he knew the family secrets as well as Monsieur St. George himself. He eagerly, therefore, hastened to announce what he knew to be most agreeable intelligence.

In the meantime Turrene, left by himself in a large parlour, had leisure to look around him; he found himself in one of those houses, or rather palaces which belong to the higher order of merchants. Every thing bespoke the wealth of its owner. His reverie was interrupted by the entrance of the old gentleman, who approaching in haste, precipitated himself into the arms of Turrene. Turrene returned his embraces with equal warmth. The old In this conversation between the gentleman was enraptured at the figure young friends passed the whole inter- of his intended son in-law. He overval of the journey till their arrival at whelmed him with family questions, to Paris. It was then agreed between the all of which the candid communication two companions, that they should stop at of his deceased friend had enabled the same Inn. But scarcely had they Turrene to return most satisfactory reached this Inn, and were left alone answers. He delivered his letters, in the chamber, when a very unexpec- The old gentleman read them. ted incident occurred. The young "You have brought then," said he, Dupaty was seized with a violent com-the five hundred crowns which your plaint in his bowels. Whether arising father has mentioned in his letter?" from the journey, or from any other cause, the disease was so violent, and instantaneous in its effect, that Turrene had scarcely time to call for help before his companion had expired.

There is a help for every thing but death-Turrene retired to his bed, and revolved the incidents of the day, and his journey. Furrene was at an age when the spirit of mischief is supposed to predominate. Tarrene rose in the morning, and going to the trunk of the deceased Chevalier, the keys of which Dupaty had given him previous to his unhappy catastrophe, he examined the contents; and taking the letters and the bag containing the five hundred

Turrene replied to this interrogatory by putting the bag into the hands of the old gentleman.

"Good, my young friend," replied the worthy Monsieur St. George. "Your father, I perceive, is as much a man of business as myself. You will soon learn that my fortune, and what I shall give my daughter, did not require the addition of five hundred crowns, but I was willing that your father should have some share in the happiness of setting you going. I am a plain man, young gentleman, your father has done his part, and I shall now do mine."

With these words he rang a bell; and upon the entrance of a servant, comman

led him to summon a priest by a certain hour in the same evening. "In the mean time you shall go and see my wife and daughter. It is fit that a young man should become acquainted with his wife."

not be concluded from the circumstance of my death, the money might return safe into the hands of my father. I must not declare further the secrets of the grave,-suffice it that the last wish of my life was the first of my death.The permission was granted me.-The thing is done, and the money safe.-I must now return to be buried.-This vehour is the time appointed for me to enter the grave.-Farewell."

With these words, whilst the merchant was fixed in motionless astonishment, Turrene disappeared, availing himself of the darkness of the night, and an obscure turn in the cloisters.

Turrene was accordingly conducted to the drawing-room, and introduced to matronly woman, and a young girl of great beauty, the wife and daughterry of the worthy merchant; who after the ceremony of introduction, left the young Chevalier to recommend himself. In this Turrene so effectually succeeded, that, by the hour of dinner, the ladies had become more than commonly satisfied with their new acquaintance. After some moments of mute surThe good matron looked with pride up. prise the merchant, rubbing his eyes, on the elegant figure and manly accom-looked about him. Turrene, as we plishments of her intended son, and the young lady blushed with more meaning, but with equal satisfaction.

Turrene equally recommended himself during the dinner and dessert. The merchant almost crossed himself with surprise, how his old friend, the citizen of Blois, who was a proverb of niggardly economy, could have given his son so brilliant an education.

have said, had disappeared.--The mer. chant called,-no one answered. In a word the merchant became horrorstruck, and recovered himself only to hurry home and relate the terrible adventure to his wife and daughter.

Terror has quick steps; he soon regained his own door and knocked for entrance with unusual violence.

Before the door was opened, a cart with trunks came up to it. The merchant demanded from whence it came ? "From the Hotel de Pont Matre." "From whom there ?” demanded the

It was now becoming late; the priest was expected. Turrene, upon a sudden, rose; assumed a look of solemnity, and beckoned the merchant to follow him. The merchant, in some sur-merchant eagerly. prize, obeyed.

Tarrene descended the stairs, and entered the street. The merchant inquired whither he was going? Turrene waved his hand.-The merchant, more astonished, continued to follow him.

It was the month of December, and therefore, though the hour was eight in the evening, it was foggy and dark as midnight. Turrene, holding the merchant by the arm, insensibly led him into the cloisters of the Monastry of the Benedictines, when, suddenly stopping, "My friend," said he," it is enough, I have discharged that for which it was permitted me to be absent, and must now return. Behold in me the Spirit of the young Chevalier Dupaty. I arrived in Paris at the Hotel de Pont Matre, at six o'clock yesterday evening, and died of the cholic about half an hour after my arrival. I need not tell you that my father had entrusted to my care a bag of five hundred crowns. My senses survived my speech, and made me anxious that as the match could

"They are the trunks of the young Chevalier Dupaty," replied the carter.

"And where is the young Chevalier Dupaty?" rejoined the merchant.

"In his grave by this time," replied the carter. "The bell of Notre Dieu was announcing the burial as I left the Inn."

"What, the Chevalier is really dead then said the merchant, his hair erecting itself with increased horror.

"Yes," replied the carter, "dead as Adam. He arrived in the city yesterday afternoon, and died within half an hour afterwards."

The merchant's door now opened; he stayed not to ask another question but rushed up to relate to his wife the circumstances of the apparition.

Turrene was silent, it was almost genThe story got about Paris, and as lier Dupaty had appeared to the mererally believed that the young Chevachant St. George, as he has been relat ed.

THE ORPHANS.

A Song.

POETRY.

THE trees droop and wither, their verdure is gone,

The swallow to regions of mildness is flown;

The storms of the winter will quickly

come on,

And the lone orphan's cot o'er the village be strewn ;

Its time-moulder'd, shelter then who will restore ?

Who fence them from cold, and supply them with food? The poor man will turn them in grief from his door, Heart-wounded himself-he can do them no good.

As lately I mark'd where the grey pointed stone

Gives a simple memoir of the tenant below,

Some sorrow-breath'd sighs seem'd to prelude this moan,

Which discover'd the plaints of the children of woe; "Oh father, dear father, tho' stretch'd in that bed,

O'er which the green turf we're so

newly remov'd, To the Pow'r we submit that has pillow'd thy head,

By the hallow'd remains of a mother belov'd."

"To thy axe would the oak of the forest oft yield,

We have follow'd thy steps, and the loppings have bound:

We have eagerly ran to the harvest afield,

And pick'd the scant gleanings that offer'd around;

But again to thy bidding we cannot comply,

Thy voice can no longer the labourers cheer;

The streamlet our cottage runs mournfully by,

And the tears of sad Autumn discolour the year."

The sadness' of Autumn accords to their grief,

It in sympathy sooths, but can bring them no rest :

Till the aim of the fowler has doom' i them to bleed,

Then Fate speaks in thunder-the flut terers are torn!

Thrice blessed are they, who, be holding the deed,

Leave not misery's offspring to perish forlorn!

THE EVE OF HYMEN.

'Tis night, and my Delia now hastens to

rest;

Rapt into sweet visions, I wander alone; Love soothes the fond wishes that glow in my breast,

With transports to Wealth, and to Gran-
deur unknown.

Soft, soft be thy slumbers, dear innocent
Fair!

Decend smilling Peace on my bosom's
delight,

Hope sheds her pure beams on each long-nourish'd care,

As day brightly dawns on the shadows of night.

Reclin'd on her pillow, now mute is that voice, stole :

Whese sounds my affection insensibly And clos'd are those eyes, in whose beams I rejoice;

And veil'd are those lips, which enrapture my soul :

Conceal'd are those cheeks, where luxuriantly glow

The tenderest graces of beauty and youth

snow,

And hidden from me is that bosom cf
Truth
The mansion of Purity, Virtue, an
She's absent :-yet lovely and gracef
my heart:
Kind Fancy restores the fair pride
Spring calls forth the verdure of natur
impar

to view,

anew,

Her smiles to the seasons new gl No longer soft sorrow my verse sha inspire long Despondence has clouded my spirits t In extacy sweeping the soul-breathi

lyre,

Love, Hymen, and Delia awaken m

Mr. Wanderer,

I address you in behalf of a society of young ladies, who have been in the habit of taking your paper ever since the Emerald was established. We meet, Sir, for conversation and literature, but are not of

a disposition to be puzzled with long arguments or dry dissertations; we prefer light reading to historical detail, and delight more in sharp re-marks than critical accuracy ;...we pray you to pay attention in future to our wishes or I shall have orders to drop the subscription.

Yours, with esteem,

Sir,

CLARA LIGHTHEART, Sec'y.

As I have addressed to you as my correspondent from the market of literature, and am willing to allow you a generous commission of 3 per cent on the net amount of all articles purchased, I have a right to insist on your obeying my orders implicitly, and I now give you directions to send by the next convey. ance none of your bulky, heavy matters, but a complete assortment of light and fashionable ware suited to the seasons.

Yours per favour,

GEORGE TRADEALL.

P. S. I send for your better information an extract from our Prices

current, to which hope you will

attend.

Prices Current in the Literary Market,

Boston.

Moral Essays....... dull and plenty,
Levity..... in great demand; first quali

ty very scarce, refuse in abundance.
Theatrical criticisms.... out of season--
.... none at market.
about par.
Biography
History...... very dull-no purchasers.
Accidents... much wanted, none arriv
ed lately.
Novels. very plenty-bear great ad-

....

vance.

I have received your first volume as per invoice. Light articles are best suited to our market, and I wish you to send in future a consignment Marriages.... fashionable-some rare of fashionable small ware rather than heavy bales of argument or learning. I have carried to the Wit... a great scarcity-a little of the choice kind would bear a large price.

credit of your account the several articles of humor and pleasantry which have occasionally been shipped, but have to debit you with a heavy loss on those which you thought of more sterling value.

VOL. II.

Deaths...

......

sales lately.

very dull-never tho❜t of.

To Mr.Wanderer, Boston,.

To Mr. 'Squire Wanderer.

G. T.

You must know, Sir, that I am one of the members of the honour❤