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and sought in foreign travel and the pursuit of literature to dissipate the inquietude whieh was eonsuming him; hut still the image of Laura haunted him through all his wanderings, and inspired that poetry whose purity, fire, and tenderness, have been the admiration of the world. He returned to Avignon, but again fled from the presenee whieh was so dear to him, and sought in the solitudes of Vaueluse, to regain tho peaee whieh ho was never to find. Shut in from the whole world by the roeks and hills, he found that eolitudo was "no eure for love;" through that sweet valley, among its shades and by its fountains, be sung the praises of Laura. And thus years passed on. It was during this seelusion that he got Simon Memoni, a pupil of Giotti, to take Laura's likeness. So delighted was the artist with the beautiful subjeet that the same lovely faee was reeognized in several of his pietures of saints and angels. On the 24th of August, 1340, Petrareh reeeived two letters, eaeh with an offer of the laurel erown; one from the University of Paris, the other from the Roman Senate; he deeided on aeeepting it from the latter. He valued the honor as the meed of his eelebration of Laura; all selfish eonsiderations were lost ln the one desire that the lover of Laura should be renowned and distinguished. The feelings with whieh Laura must have heard of the honors paid to the one so long and so devotedly attaehed to her have not been deseribed, but they may be eoneeived. Thirteen years had now passed sinee they had first seen eaeh other. When Petrareh and Laura met, time and eare had wrought their ehanges in both. Petrareh's loeks were already sprinkled with gray, and tho animation of his eountenanee was saddened by sorrow; the bloom of girlhood had passed from Laura, and the traees of melaneholy whieh an unhappy lot hRd left were but too visible; but all the tenderness and sympathy of other days remained. The jealous disposition of M. do Sade prevented Petrareh's boing reeeived at his house, but they often met and eonversed together; and Laura would sing for him those songs to whieh he had so often delighted to listen; there was a tender sympathy in this intereourse, soothing to both. Petrareh's allusion to their last meeting is very affeeting; he found her, as ho deseribes, in tho midst of a eirele of ladies; her whole air betokened dejeetion, and tho sorrowful look with whieh she regarded him, and whieh seemed to him to say, "Who takes my faithful friend from me?" made an indelible impression on him—his heart sank within him; and they seemed to feei at that sad moment that they were to meet no more. In the following year tho plague broke out; Petrareh, who was at Parma, heard that it had reaehed Avignon; he was haunted by the reeolleetion of the last moments that he had passed with Laura; it seemed to him as if the hand of death had been on her nlroady. The most eruel forebodings tortured him by day and by night; his dreams represented her as dying or dead.

\ The dreaded nows reaehed him—Laura tro* dead!

\ An attaek of the plague had earried her off in three

i days; she had died on the anniversary of that day

\ on whieh they had first met. In all the hitterness

< of his grief, he reealled all that had passed at their \ last meeting; the melaneholy solemnity of her adieu i seemed to his memory as that of one on the eonfines I of eternity; every kind word she had ever spoken, \ every kind look sho had ever given, was dwelt on j with passionate fondness; and the hope, tho belief, j that he had been dear to her was the only thing ( whieh eould soothe. His dreams previously to her \ death appeared to his imagination mysteriously j linked with that event; he has most touehingly dei seribed one of those visions, when he believed her i pure spirit was permitted to visit and eomfort htm. S His pathetie lamentations were heard throughout S the world with the deepest sympathy, and wrung : the heart of many a one who had in happier days i shared "sweet eounsel" with him.

i The misfortunes of Torquato Tosso eommeneed in

1 his early ehildhood; he was but eleven years old

i when politieal events obliged his father to qmt Na

\ pies, and seek refuge in Rome. It had been settled

\ that Torquato should follow him. The hanishment

j from home, and from a mother on whom he doated,

j wero sad trials. Some lines of touehing tendernoss

! eommemorate tho parting, and show how hitterly

1 it was felt. They were never to meet again; in

t eighteen months after they parted she died. He

i was indeed a ehild that must have been regarded

S with the fondest tenderness and pride. To wonder

i ful aequirements for his age, were added what ean

J never be aequired—a feeling heart, and poetieal

i genins of the highest order, whieh in all his wander

i ings, in all his trials, had magie influenee to eharm

> a world whieh had nothing but misfortuno for him. S His mother best know how mueh his sensitive nature \ required the tranquillity of a home, and the sympas thy and endearments of those who loved him. But i his lot was to be east among strangers, and some \ among them proved implaeable enemies. A life of i stranger vieissitudes is seareely to bo mot with;

< sometimes eourted and earessed, the eompanion of \ prinees; at other times wandering in almost exj tremity of want; inspired by a saered love of liberty, ( yet eondemned to long years of the saddest eaptivity; J with eharms and graees to win the love of the fairest i and the best, yet destined to feel all tho pangs of a i hopeless passion! A being more to be admired and J more to be pitied thnn Tosso surely never existed. S He was but twenty, when he reeeived the most flat

> tering offiee of employment from Cardinal Luiri \ d'Este, brother to the Duke of Ferrara, who was ( anxious to seeure the serviees of ono possessed of j sueh genins. Though a eonneetion with the D'Este \ family opened a brilliant prospeet for a young man, i yet the friends of Tosso, dreading for him the danI gers of a eourt, endeavored to persuade him to de* elioe tbe proposal; but it was too flattering to be

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refused, and he hastened to Ferrara, in eomplianee with the Cardinal's wish, who reeeived him with every mark of distinetion, and on oeeasion of his being appointed legate to Franee, introdueed him at the Freneh eourt, where he was reeeived in the most flattering manner by Charles the Ninth, who was a warm admirer of his poetry. At Ferrara, Tasso beeame aequainted with the sisters of the Duke, who, intelleetual and aeeomplished, eould appreeiate the gifted poet. His hours passed delightfully in their soeiety. He has deseribed the effeet of his first interviow with these faseinating ladies, in a rhapsody given to Tirsi, the eharaeter meant to represent himself in his " Aminta," in whieh the terms of goddesses, sirens, nymphs, minstrels, and luminaries are liberally bestowed, and show at least that the young poet was intoxieated with delight in their presenee. On their parts they enthusiastieally admired him and his poetry. But there was one among them eminently attraetive, whom he soon loved with all the passionate earnestness of whieh his ardent feelings were suseeptible. Many of Tasso's hiographers say that she was not insensible to the varied graees of the youth; in troth, his personal advantages, his rare aeeomplishments, and, above all, the enthusiasm of genins, so eaptivating and eo winning, made him a dangerous eompanion for the young prineesses.

Leonora was the youngest of the three sisters, and just nineteen when she and Tasso met. The prineesses interested the Duke of Ferrara in his favor, and he appointed him to a situation in whieh he was exempt from duty, that he might devote himself exelusively to poetry. There was a handsome salary annexed, and apartments in tho dueal palaee. An inmate under the same roof with Leonora, the predileetion whieh the young people felt for eaeh other eould not but inerease. Confessions and vows may have passed between them, or Leonora's heart may havo kept its own seeret; the delieaey of Tasso's affeetion is elearly provod by tho mystery whieh rests on those passages of his life in whieh she was eoneerned; for while allusions expressed with infinite tenderness, found throughout his poetry, diseover tho state of his own feelings, there is not one word whieh ean furnish a suggestion relative to hers. Ho had ventured, in aeeordanee with the eustom of tho times, to eelebrate her praises in verse; this, or some other eireumstanee, awakened the suspieions of tho Duke; the intereourse of Tasso with the prineesses was abruptly terminated, and they were not suffered to meet . Tho duke, to put an end to any vague hopes whieh he might entertain, pressed Tasso to marry, and suitable matehes were proposed and deelined. He withdrow for some time to Rome; on his return he felt that he was ineessantly watehed, and his sensitive nature eould ill brook the want of eonfidenee whieh this betrayed, and he left Ferrara again and again, wandering, while absent, reekless and restless, from plaee to plaee; and then, impelled by his passion for Leo

j nora, he would return, notwithstanding all his rej solutions to the eontrary, and regardless of the suspieions and maehinations of the duke. His me

> laneholy inereased, and his imagination eontinually j represented that plots and designs against him were

in agitation; he beeame irritable, and one day, in j a fit of exeitement, drow his dagger on one of tho I attendants; but he was instantly disarmed, and was J eonfined, by order of the duke, within tho proeinets j of the palaee—he was, in faet, a prisoner; but on

. expressing the regret whieh he felt for the intem: perate aet, the restraint was removed, and the duke

. affeeted to treat him with his former kindness; but \ Tosao's feelings were too quiek to be deeeived; ho

felt that he was tho objeet of the duke's dislike and displeasure. Unhappy and irresolute, he sometimes wished to retire to a eonvent for the remainder of ; his life; hat thoughts of his early home and happy days would often reeur to his mind, and he longed to see his sister, the eompanion of his ehildhood, whom he had not met for years; and he resolved to leave Ferrara seeretly, and find his way to her. His sister was a widow, living at Torrento with her two < ehildren. One evening in the summer, as she sat alone, having sent the ehildren out to amuse themselves, a shepherd brought a letter, whieh he had been direeted to put into her hand—it was from Tasso, and told that he was in tho midst of enemies | and dangers at Ferrara, and that, unless she eould ! devise some means to save him, his death was inevitable. She questioned the messenger; his reeital J eonfirmed the intelligenee, and represented the \ misery to whieh her brother was redueed in sueh l terms, that, overeome with anguish, the lady fainted \ away. When she revived, Tasso diseovered himself, nnd in those momenta of affeetionate reeognition, } ho told her that he would never leave her for a world of whieh he had had too mueh; but his rej solves were of short duration; Ferrara and its atj traetion eould not be withstood. It was on the

> oeeasion of one of his returns from his restless wandering that he saw Leonora; the surprise and de

j light of being again in her presenee were so great ! that ho uttered an impassioned exelamation; this \ gave the duke the pretext for eonsigning him to \ St . Anne's Asylum for lunaties. "None but a madman would dare to aet so !" was repeated over again, j So hardly was poor Tasso dealt with for having inj dulged a hopeless, and it may have been an uurej quited passion. At that time, and for very long j after, the insane were treated as if they were not human beings, and the reeeptaeles for them were under no regulations but those of eapriee and eruelty, j Tasso gives a most appalling aeeonnt of his sufj ferings to his friend Gonzaga; it ends with these affeeting words: "Above all, I am afflieted by solitude, my eruel and natural enemy, whieh even j in my best state was sometimes so distressing that often, at the moat unseasonable hours, I have gone in seareh of eompany. Sure I am, that if she who so little has eorresponded to my attaehment, if she paw me in sueh a eondition, and in sueh misery, she would have some eompassion on me!"

Even this abode of wretehedness eould not extinguish his poetie fire, and from his solitary eell poems of surpassing beauty found their way to the world from whieh he was utterly shut out; they were read in every eirele, and the genins of the author extolled; but his misfortunes found no helping hand for seven long years: at length, through the intervention of his friend Gonzaga, he was released. During his eonfinement Leonora had died: sorrow and sympathy may have had their share in bringing her to an untimely grave. Cruelty had done its part; the young and beautiful sank beneath its weight, and the gifted mind had reeeived a shoek from whieh* it never after thoroughly reeovered. Tasso left Ferrara never to return; like the troubled spirit, he eould find rest nowhere; but at length he took up his abode at Naples; his mother's property, whieh had long been unjustly withheld from him, was restored. The beauties of nature please when nothing else ean, and they may not have been without their gentle influenee on the strieken heart; but the haunts of ehildhood must have been mournfully eontrasted with the dark seenes of after days. Tasso reeeived an intimation from the pope, that a

j deeroe had passed tho senato, awarding the laure i erown to "the greatest poet of the age;" "the \ honor," added the pope, " is to the laurel, and not \ to Tasso." Tasso aeeepted the honor with deep j melaneholy, and left Naples with a foreboding that j he should see it no more. Though afflietion had not extinguished a spark of poetie fire, it had not left a vestige of amhition; those that would most have delighted in his fame, and taken pride in his trinmph, were in their graves, and he longed to be with them. Tho most gorgeous preparations were in progress, not only in the palaee and eapital, but in every street through whieh the proeession was to pass. Tasso, with a prophetie spirit, deelared the preparations were vain. Afflietion, and his long eonfinement, had antieipated tho work of years—the infirmities and languor of old age had overtaken him before their time; he foil ill—medieal aid was unavailing—he was apprised of the approaeh of his last moments; he reeeived the intimation with perfeet ealmness—all earthly eoneerns were lost in heavenly eontemplations, and the only erown to whieh he aspired was that unfading erown whieh awaits the blessed in heaven.

The erowds were still eolleeting—fresh flowers wero gathered to weave into the garlands that were to deek his trinmph; but ere they had faded away the poet was dead!


We only repeat an established truism, familiar to us all, when we say that there is nothing whieh eonduees so mueh to the health and eonsequent happiness of our fair friends as moderate exereise, or voluntary labor. Wo very naturally eompassionate the eondition of thoso who are eompelled to work at some sedentary oeeupation from "early dawn" to the mid-watehes of the night, for a mere subsistenee, shot in from the freshness and health fulness of the morning and evening breezo; from the brightness of the sun, and, at this season of the year, from the enehanting loveliness of nature. And yet, wo ean seareely feel less eompassion for those who voluntarily fall into ille, listless, and enervating hahits, whieh not only destroy the buoyaney and elastieity of the mind, but absolutely deform the beauty and paralyze the energies of tho body.

However unfashionable the sentiment may appear to some of our more than usually romantie and fastidious readers, we shall not hesitate to eonfess the faet, that we seldom meet with a moro agreeable sight on a bright sunny morning, as we trudge to our daily labor through a fashionable part of the eity, than to behold the daughters of some of our opulent eitizens dusting the sills of the windows,

brush in hand, or, with broom in hand, sweeping the hall or parlor earpet . There is that in the bright eyes, and in tho rosy flush of their eheeks, as they sparkle ond bloom from beneath the elosely drawn bonnet or hood, whieh to us aro irresistible evidenees of health and eheerfulness. There is something, indeed, in sueh a sight, not merely eneouraging on aeeount of the assuranees it gives of the praetieal wisdom whieh pervades the whole family eirule—tho assuranee that industry, eomfort, peaee, dignity, and purity of mind reign over all within the little republie—but it also affords us some assuranee, amidst the prevailing strife for riehes and aristoeratie glory, of tho perpetuity of all our great, yet simple republiean institutions.

But besides a elass of fashionables who may not ehoose to take regular exereise at the brush or broom handle, there is another unhappy elass, the members of whieh, either through ignoranee of, or inattention to the requirements of their bodies, or through foreed mental labor while yet in their ehildhood, have in faet lost the museular power to apply themselves to sueh voluntary labor as we have been deserihing. To both these elasses, with whose neeessities, infirmities, and prejudiees we have been mado somowhat

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familiar, wo propose to reeommend for their eonsideration, and for their adoption, should they follow our adviee, a series of praetieal exereises whieh, we verily believe, will have the most benefieial effeets on their systems, whether diseased, deformed, or simply suffering from the absenee of those physieal energies, and that buoyaney of spirit, whieh exereise seareely ever fails to reproduee in those who apply themselves to it prudently, in time, and with a will.

The annexed figures are Nos. 1 and 2 of a series, by means of whieh we shall endeavor to illustrate to our readers the use of an instrument formed of two elastie hands, whieh is furnished with a hook and handle, or a eateh, and ean be fixed upon any objeet, either in or out of doors, and be at onee ready for use without delay, sueh as the eorner of a table, the handle or frame of a door, window-sill, or bed-post. The book aets somowhat in the manner of a "elaw," or pair of "dogs," viz.: the greater the strain the firmer the hold, and out of doors ean be attaehed to the top of a wall, railing, or braneh of a tree. The exereises to be performed by it are varied, numerous, entertaining, and exeiting. They may be inereased to upwards of two hundred, and have been reeognized in England, where the instrument was first introdueed, as the most eondueive towards the full development of the bodily frame, and the inerease of museular power.

In the future illustrations of this subjeet, we shall avail ourselves of the opportunity whieh will be afforded of impressing upon our readers not merely the importanee of the exereises it embraees, to tho healthy, but to those who are laboring under diseases of the ehest and spine. The information in relation to the origin and formation of sueh diseases will be



drawn from unquestionable authority, and will be interesting to parents as furnishing tho means of prevention, as well as affording to the afflieted the most prohable moans of relief, if not of eure.



Manv a smiling faee grow sorrowful, and many a bright eye filled with tears, as the little hand of sehool-girls assembled for the last time in the old sehool-room at Woodside. It was a beautiful evening in June; the gentle breeze wafted through the open window the perfume of thousands of flowers, and seemed, as it played with their sunny eurls, to woo those fair maidens out on the seented lawn and fait" the halmy air whieh it was sueh luxury to breathe.

What eharm eould there be in that dark, low sehool-room, with its long rows of dusty desks, and quaint, three-legged stools, its sombre blaekboards and frowning maps! The fair earth was smiling around them, glad voiees were ealling from without, and yet those young girls lingered there, silently and tearfully. And well might they twine their arms around eaeh other; well might they eling to that dear old room, for,

"The morrow brings their parting,
And they may not meet again."

It was their last day at sehool. Hitherto they had been petted and eherished, and, though their sehool life had had its showers, it had also its brilliant rainbows and glowing sunshine. Now they were to go forth into the world, to think for themselves, to aet for themselves, to bo judged by themselves; and what wonder if they shrank from the dim futuro with timid hearts, and longed to be ehildren again! Homo there wore, indeed, who had been building gorgeous eastles, and pieturing to themselves bright visions of womanhood; but even theso forgot their gay dreams in the sad reality of the last day at sehool.

In the midst of the little group sat a lady in the meridian of life. Her sable dress and widow's eup betokened that she had seen sorrow; but there was sueh a sweet expression in her plaeid faee, sueh a motherly look about her, that you would never in the world imagine her to bo a sehoolmistress. And in reality she was not a sehoolmistress to the little group around her, not ono among them ever thought of her as sueh. No, she was the dear "Aunt Susan," who soothed their troubles and shared their joys, their eonfidanto in many a girlish freak, and their idolized teaeher, not only from books, but in the wiser and better lore they gathered from tho gay birds, the smiling flowers, and from their own young hearts.

On this evening, Aunt Snsan had been talking to them even more earnestly and seriously than was

her wont . She had been telling them of woman's high and holy duties, of her numerous and glorious rights, and she was urging them never to let the eares or the vanities of the world steal into their hearts, but to keep them forever bright and pure, and dedieate to thoir "Father in heaven.** She told them of the "talents" whieh that Father had bestowed upon them all, and warned them not to suffer them to rust or tarnish.

"Oh! Aunt Susan," eried Fanny Wilmer, a merry i hoyden of sixteen, "do tell eaeh of us what our talents are; I am sure I don't know what has be; eome of mine, if I ever had any. I guess I was i forgotten in the general giving out." S "Your own hearts will tell you all, if you ponder a moment; but sinee some of you, like Fanny here, \ seem never to have thought of sueh things, I will j remind you of them. I will begin with Fanny, as she is the youngest among you. Your talent, my j Fanny, is your wit . Happily for you, as yet it has { been exereised only in funny speeehes and goodi humored rallying with your sehoolmates; but when you go out into the world—I tremble for you, my Fanny. Your sparkling sayings and brilliant repartees will doubtless make you admired and flattered in the gay eirele among whieh you will move, and you will be able to give tho tone to that eonversation in whieh you are so eapable of shining. I implore you, Fanny, to keep that bright talent of yours unsullied. Ridieule the follies of your friends, if you will, but their weaknesses or deformities never. Above all, never employ your wit in ridieule of sa\ ered things; never turn the gift against the Giver. ; Though it may appear pleasant, as it is so easy to ? lot fall the hitter sareasm or the sharp retort, rememi ber, that if you will toy with the bright, edged tools, . you must not expeet to eseape unseathed. And now, ; Fanny, a word as to the improvement of your talent . i You have a gift whieh will enable you to east sun; shine on many a dark and dreary path, and to \ brighten many a gloomy day. You ean ehase eare \ from many a loved one's brow, and ean strengthen j many a fainting heart by your ehoering, happy \ words. Yes, Fanny, it is in your power to beeome ? either a universal blessing, or that dreaded and ; hated being, a female satirist .

There was a pause. The gay, light-hearted girl, \ subdued into silenee by Aunt Susan's solemn man( ner and still more solemn words, drow a deep breath, 5 as if half frightened at tho thought of the good and } evil destinies whieh waited her deeision. > "And what is my talent?" said a silvery voiee;

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