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taken Mr. Russell Colt into her especial favor, and he flattered himself that he was making no inconsiderable progress in the good graces of the rich Miss Ashcroft.

We left this amiable trio standing by the window, in the full flow of interesting conversation, and we will now return to listen to it. 'Bless me!' said Mrs. Franks, looking out, 'who has Mr. Franks got with him?'

In another moment the door opened, and the aforesaid Mr. Franks appeared with his remarkable companion. Mr. Franks was a rotund little man, with great bushiness of whisker, and seemed at the present moment to be swelling with importance.

Mrs. Franks,' said the inflated pigmy, waving his hand with a tremendous flourish, ' give me leave to introduce to you Col. Harcourt. Col. Harcourt, permit me to make you acquainted with Miss Ashcroft. It is unnecessary to name Mr. Russell Colt.'

The ladies assumed their most gracious smiles, while Mr. Colt advanced and shook the stranger's hand with the greatest appearance of cordiality. We will just whisper in the reader's ear that he had never set eyes upon him before, and that he was trembling like an aspen, for fear of an eclaircissement.

We shall now assume the privilege of story-tellers, and introduce Col. Harcourt to our readers.

This much-talked-of personage was an English officer, of high birth and distinguished bravery. He was also the author of a very fascinating novel, and the avowed object of his present tour was to collect materials for a book upon America. There was a supercilious John Bullism about him, but he was nevertheless essentially a gentleman. He was aware that he was a lion, and thought it best, therefore, to be as shaggy as possible. As he could not easily provide himself with a mane, he placed his main dependence for the support of the character upon a pea-jacket, of a very coarse texture, and the rest of his dress corresponded with this singular jerkin. While Mr. Franks was performing his introductions, the keen eyes of Col. Harcourt were detecting American peculiarities. They do not introduce gentlemen,' thought he, when Mr. Russell Colt was so familiarly passed over; 'merely ladies, and the men shake hands without any introduction. Strange custom! I must remember it to-night in my note-book.'

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You could not have come to Screamy Point at a worse time, Col. Harcourt,' said Mrs. Franks, in her most honied accents. You must not form an opinion of American society, from what you see here now.'

'Pardon me, my dear madam,' said Col. Harcourt, with a smile; 'I have but just arrived; yet I have already observed not a little beauty and fashion.'

Indeed, Col. Harcourt,' said Mrs. Franks, earnestly, 'I do assure you there is nobody here at present. At least, nobody who is at all in society.'

I saw a very pretty, well-dressed girl a few moments since,' said Col. Harcourt, who would, I am sure, to use a soldier's phrase, 'pass muster' any where.'

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Can you describe her?' said Mrs. Franks, with much anxiety. 'Not very accurately, I apprehend,' replied Col. Harcourt. All I can

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recollect is, that she had most radiant dark eyes, and a very bewitching little mouth I am confident, however, that she is perfectly presentable.' O, I dare say it was that Miss Casey!' said Mrs. Franks. Her father is an oil-merchant, or something of that sort. She is not visited, and I have never even spoken to the girl. Harriet, have you ever met her?'

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Never,' said Miss Ashcroft, haughtily. Mama is very particular about my acquaintances.'

"Pon honor! you must n't judge by her, Harcourt!' said Mr. Russell Colt, whose lips absolutely blanched with the boldness of the experiment he was making.

Sir!' said Col. Harcourt, turning around, and fixing his eyes upon Mr. Colt, with a most intimidating sternness of expression.

You have not seen Mr. Colt before for a long time, have you, Col. Harcourt?' inquired the unsuspicious Mr. Franks.

The impertinent Yankee is lecturing me because I looked down the insolence of this puppy,' thought the Colonel. I must not com

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mit myself in such a queer country: I will bear with him.'

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True, Sir,' said he, with the most amiable simplicity, it is not very long! Only about five minutes,' growled the chafed lion, inaudibly.

Mr. Colt looked the perfect picture of amazement, and his courage rose immediately to fever heat.

Harcourt,' said he, how comes on your book?'

The Englishman deigned him no reply, and Mr. Colt got up and walked to a window.

Who is this Mr. Colt?' said Col. Harcourt, in a low tone to Miss Ashcroft: he seems a very odd sort of person.'

4

'You are

Who is he?' said Miss Ashcroft, in astonishment. joking, Col. Harcourt:' and the young lady absolutely laughed in

his face.

These American girls are excessively rude,' thought the Colonel, and their perception of the ridiculous is really somewhat annoying.' Mr. Russell Colt observed this little by-play of whispering, and approached the parties with unwonted precipitancy. All further discussion concerning his peculiarities was of course precluded.

Here is a new publication, Col. Harcourt,' said Mr. Franks, taking up a volume from the centre-table, and handing it to the traveler. The reviewers speak of it in the very highest terms, and although the author is not known, it is understood that he is a native American.'

Ay! this reminds me,' said Col. Harcourt, that I must bid you a reluctant farewell, ladies. The author of that book is a Mr. Raymond, who, I learn, has been here very recently; and as I am extremely desirous to make his acquaintance, and have an engagement to meet him in Boston on Friday, I must follow him immediately. I have brought him letters from Professor Wilson and Captain Marryatt. You have reason to be proud of your countryman, Mr. Franks. His articles in Blackwood and the New Monthly are always sought for with avidity, and as he is yet very young, he will undoubtedly stand one day at the head of your national literature. I have no time to lose, and I trust, ladies, that you will be so indulgent as to excuse my abruptness.'

Col. Harcourt accordingly took his departure, strangely puzzled with

1836.1

To the Evening Star.

the distinctions of American society, and somewhat mystified concerning the rules of good breeding, which obtain in the fashionable circles of New-York. The English public was of course edified with the appearance. result of his observations, when his book made its After he had gone, Miss Ashcroft had leisure for reflection. She was not destitute of discernment, and although Mr. Russell Colt had, as if by a miracle, escaped detection, she was very suspicious that he was not all that he had pretended to be. Col. Harcourt, instead of meeting him with the cordiality of friendship, had evidently regarded him with contempt. Circumstances led her to compare this crest-fallen fop with the noble being whom she had herself despised, and the parallel thus instituted was not remarkably agreeable. She was not aware of the celebrity which Edward Raymond had been acquiring, and for the first time his full worth flashed vividly upon her. Could she have lured the tassel gentle back again,' she would have deemed herself unutterably happy. She had the sense, however, to perceive that this would be impossible, and They have never met since that meshe was right in the conclusion. morable visit to Screamy Point, and their paths are now diverging more and more. He is fast rising to a proud station among the sons of fame, and she is still painfully toiling for the suffrages of fools.

E. B. C.

TO THE EVENING STAR.

STAR of the west! - thy dewy beam
Looks o'er our mingled joy and wo-
Reflected in the glassy stream,

Thou deign'st to light the world below;
While the waves ripple their reply
To the low breeze's evening sigh.

Star of the west! - when Nature sleeps,
And the last glance of day is gone,
And when the balmy dew-drop weeps,
Thou shin'st and sparklest there alone,

And throw'st thy ray of silver light
On the dun breast of coming night.

Star of the west!-whose glories burn,
As if to guard while we are sleeping,

Ere we retire, to thee we turn,

And gaze where thou thy watch art keeping.

Thy gentle influence o'er us shed,

And with sweet slumbers bless our bed!

And Thou, who mad'st the glorious star,
And guid'st it through its heavenly flight,

Who guard'st us wheresoe'er we are,
Through radiant day or gloomy night;
Oh, shed around the willing heart
The light that never can depart!

ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE.

COLERIDGE says finely of Shelly, I think, that he lived neither in space nor time, but as if by the way.' He meant, I suppose, that he was so little affected or interested by the circumstances around him, and the times in which he seemed to exist, as not to belong to the age or the world, but was as if he had stepped aside from the track of time, while the world, forgetting its passenger, moved by him. The world used a remissness in his case with which it is seldom chargeable. What agent of what line or mode of conveyance ever used the diligence, or had the success, of the world, in decoying or hurrying, nolens volens, into its moving machine, the hesitating traveler? To turn the poet's words to our own account, all the world's a stage,* and with the capacity of an omnibus, the punctuality of a steam-car, and the inflexibility of a railroad, it chooses a direction, appoints a time, and finds a place, for all the men and women of this moving sphere. So the world goes,' is the signal. The way is cleared. All things must govern themselves according to its times and motions. It would be a wiser folly to delay for one's private convenience yon train where we behold in simultaneous motion the dwellers in an hundred homes, than to question the right of the world to go when, and where, and at what jog, it pleases. If it is a sufficient apology for hurrying business, breaking engagements, neglecting friends, that the steam-cars leave at four; how much more for all omissions, deficiences, and imperfections, that so the world goes!'

He who has travelled much, knows very well that travelling is a condition of great license. One may then indulge in habits seriously condemned at home. Actions become innocent or indifferent which in a state of rest are esteemed injurious and immoral. The stage or the steam-boat are no places in which to be prim and decorous. One must relax a little from his dignity and propriety, and fall in with the prevailing tone of feeling. It is folly to assert his personal character, or strive to exert his personal influence, with companions of a day. Example cannot be of much weight, which is to be manifested for so short a season, and before men who are not expecting to see models of excellence. Forsooth, they are travelling too, and men do not support characters when they journey. The toil of the jaunt is enough, without the restraints of propriety. And where one finds this spirit, he must be accommodating. He must sink his peculiarities, be they those of virtue, decorum, or profession, in a stage-coach. He cannot, again, be very particular in the observance of his usual and conscientious habits, while he is moving from place to place. His private duties are inconvenient. This sleeping two in a room leaves him no privacy. In fine, he must wait till he gets home, before he can renew his accustomed habits and duties, of however private and personal a nature. He must get home, before he can act aright.

The world may be said to be on one everlasting journey. It is one great, crowded stage-coach. Accommodation is here, too, the principle of action. So goes the world,' and at the signal we may fancy mankind with one universal rush, as if to the last coach, scrambling

*A' stage,' as a stage-coach, is a new reading of Shakspeare, which is 'respectfully submitted."

into the impatient vehicle. All have in their hurry left their characters, their habits, their principles, behind them. Behold them seated! There is a universal congratulation at their successful settlement. A common journey excites a common interest, and without inquiry into, or minute observation of, the feelings, pursuits, and principles of their fellow travelers, it is hail fellow! well met,' all around. Now is no time for nice distinctions. They are travelling. Shall private feelings. and peculiarities be permitted to disturb the common sentiment of good will? Will any one be rude enough to object to the general tone of feeling, or confess any distaste to the common topic of discourse? Is it not the only wisdom to fall in with the spirit of the place? Will one sit like a churl, in the corner of the coach, cloaked in unsociality? Will not silence be taken for stupidity - the frown of virtue for the cant of hypocrisy — the dignity of rectitude for the self-complacency of pride? Can the world's passengers, a promiscuous throng, appreciate our motives, our good sense, our force of character? Are they enough self-possessed in the exciting journey, to perceive, regard, and be influenced by a good example? Have not they, too, left their characters at home? Did they not leave in a hurry, unprepared to meet honesty, decorum, or religion on their tour, and so have dressed themselves in their worst suit, careless of their appearance before the transient crowd? And is it not esteemed untravelled and in bad taste to expose to the joltings of the way and the crowd, and to the dust of the road, the starch and gloss of one's best attire?

The passengers of the world' are like a traveler who roams the earth for a resting place. He looks forward to every stage as the end of his journey. He arrives there looks about for a moment-the bell rings-stage ready!' and loath to quit his companions of a day, he orders on his luggage, and is again a rover. So with the stagers of the world; they anticipate the goal and the time, when a home dif ferent from the world shall receive them to its quiet bosom; where friends shall surround them—where there will be motive, and reward for acting out the character they would exhibit, without the fear of any misconception where there shall be rest and retirement for forming habits, acting up to principles, for living a conscientious and a Christian life. But as the journey progresses, the goal travels too. So goes the world,' rings in the ear of the way-worn traveler forever. There is no place so retired and out of the way that the world does not pass it. It dines, and sups, and rests, at every town in the country. It has its public house in every hamlet. Its bustle, its business, its hurry, its crowd, disturb the quiet of every village. The stage stands before the door of every house. The world, the world,' is heard calling up its passengers in every street and unnamed alley. There is one constant invitation to come, free and for nothing, (thus has the strong opposition of the world to virtue cheapened its fare,) and occupy its seats, and be whirled off upon its unending tour, where dust shall dim the eye, noise dull the ear, crowds deaden the feeling, variety cloy and corrupt the taste, till the senses become the inlets of impure, distorted, unreal, indiscriminate ideas.

In these days of universal travel, not to journey in the world is a narrow-minded, bigotted, or hypocritical prejudice. It is quitting the most wealthy, tonnish, and notorious society. It is confessing a distaste for

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